


Heaven is a Place on Earth

by Prelate



Series: Another Day in Paradise [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel is Protective of Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester Tension, Dean Winchester Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dean Winchester Has Trust Issues, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, Emotional Roller Coaster, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel (Supernatural) is a Little Shit, Getting Together, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Idiots in Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Prankster Gabriel, Sam Ships It, Sam Winchester is Not Amused, Sam Winchester is So Done, Sexual Tension, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unrequited Love, Virgin Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-18 17:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prelate/pseuds/Prelate
Summary: Dean is a mess.  He can barely keep his crap together well enough to hunt, and Sam is definitely starting to suspect that something might be wrong.  Cas is perfectly content to pretend everything's fine, while avoiding him like the plague.  Meanwhile, what should have been a simple hunt turns into a complete Fiasco.  Dean has never been more scared in his life, and he might actually give up on living if he loses his angel - unless they find their way to each other through the nightmares and emotional hangups.  Sam just wishes Gabe would pick up his damned candy wrappers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, and I'm not making any sort of profit from writing this.
> 
> This is the sequel to my story “Adventures in Domesticity”. You’ll want to read that first!
> 
> This is primarily Destiel, but will eventually have Sabriel later on in the story as well. All the smut is Destiel. Most of the urban legends in this are real local stories and places (I'll leave a note if they're not), I grew up in the place I'm writing about so I've heard my share of weird. The deaths and people in the story are all fictional – except for the Action Park ones, you really can pull up the fatality list on Wikipedia. 
> 
> There might be a few typos, sorry. I try to edit everything thoroughly, but I type faster than I think. I'm not even kidding.
> 
> Anyway, please leave comments, I really appreciate feedback! :3

Something about the woodlands Dean was wondering through seemed familiar, like he had been there before but the memory seemed to hover just on the edge of his consciousness. He knelt beside a small stream and splashed some of the clear water on his face in a useless attempt to scrub off some of the blood that was caked on his face. Where had it come from? He couldn't remember. He picked at the dried blood that was still stuck in the corners of his fingernails. He tensed at the sound of rustling leaves nearby and picked up the blood-soaked machete that he had laid on the ground beside him.

“Son of a bitch, not again!” Dean just managed to avoid being shredded by the invisible claws that tore through his flannel. Hellhounds – several of them judging by the chorus of howls that erupted though the trees. He was ahead of them, it seemed. He bolted across the small stream and ran as fast as his feet could carry him in the opposite direction. He wasn't gaining enough ground. People couldn't just outrun hellhounds; if they could, the demons would have come up with a better way to collect on their deals. If he could just make it a littler further... Dean gasped and stopped dead in his tracks, at the edge of a cliff that had been hidden by the dense forest. It was a straight drop several hundred feet down, and he was cornered. Just as he realized he was fucked, he screamed in agony as at least one hellhound's claws found their mark, and the force of the impact sent him tumbling off the edge of the cliff.

Dean woke up screaming, and smashed his face into a solid surface as he struggled to throw the imaginary hellhound off of him. Panting for breath, he realized he was having another nightmare. The surface he had nearly concussed himself against was the passenger side window of the Impala. Safe, he realized and managed to rein in the rising panic. He yawned and stretched like a cat as he struggled to recall what he had been doing before falling asleep. Baby was parked on the side of the street in front of the ski lodge in Vernon. That was right, they were heading there to investigate a strange death and Sam had been driving since Dean hadn't slept well the night before. Nightmares, of course. They were only getting worse as time went on. So, that meant Sam had gone ahead to question the hotel manager.

“Should have woken me up at least, Sammy.” Dean climbed out of the car and tried somewhat hopelessly to smooth the wrinkles out of his fed suit. He really needed to take the thing to a dry cleaner, if he could remember to be bothered with it.

Dean heard Sam before he saw him. He was standing right in the lobby, near the check in counter, asking the hotel manager the usual questions about strange lights and smells. Dean winked at him, and pointed at the elevator. Sam gave him a slight nod. As Dean stepped into the elevator, his phone buzzed.

 _Room 222,_ Sam texted him. _Vengeful spirit?_

Dean pocketed his phone and pressed the button for the second floor. Really, the place reminded him of a shitty casino – trying too hard to be ritzy and just a little over the top with the brightly colored décor. It was as fake as the FBI badge in the his pocket. When Dean thought of a ski lodge, he thought of a run-down cabin halfway up a mountain somewhere in Colorado. The kind of place that reeked of woodsmoke and had hideous handmade quilts draped on all the furniture – not a five star hotel. A fleeting image of Castiel's fugly blue patchwork quilt from Gabriel's 'training simulation' came to mind, and Dean rolled his eyes. He'd have to call Cas and at least get back to being able to have a civil conversation. He would need to do it later when he had an excuse to ditch Sam back at their far less extravagant dump of a motel room.

“Open Sesame,” Dean said to the empty hallway as he kicked open the door to room #222. “Yikes,” He mumbled when he saw the charred outline of a body scorched into the wannabe retro printed carpet that looked like it belonged in a mall arcade. Luckily, aside from removing the body the police hadn't touched the scene yet. All they knew, was the guy had died of severe electrocution, nowhere near enough to a source of electricity. Dean pulled out his EMF reader, which went crazy around the entire room and only had a weak signal near the bathroom and hallway entrance doors. There wasn't any blood, or signs of a struggle – other than a few things that had been knocked off the nearby coffee table, probably while the guy was thrashing around. The door and windows, of course, had been locked. Unless Sam got something on the security cameras in the hallway, Dean had nothing concrete. ...Or not.

He barely noticed it as he went to take a look at the bathroom, but something caught his eye – dripping out of the outlet near the left night stand. Ectoplasm, Dean realized, rubbing the sticky black liquid across his thumb. He absently wiped it on his jeans and pulled out his phone.

 _EMF and ectoplasm,_ He texted Sam, _Vengeful spirit._

For good measure, he snapped a few photos of the scorched carpet and the ectoplasm dripping out of the outlets; all the outlets had it. It was then that he noticed something else. The carpet was soaking wet where the guy got Kentucky fried.

“Wait a minute...” Dean crouched near the mess, bits of his research while trapped in Gabe's Truman Shitshow came to mind. Specifically, one of the victims of the old amusement park – the man who had died from electrocution on kayak ride when he stepped on a piece of exposed live wire under the water. Hadn't that been at the park itself? The lodge was a ways down the road from there.

 _Death echo?_ He texted Sam. _Can echoes kill?_

There probably wasn't any... Organic material at the lodge. Maybe the water supply? Recycled electrical cables? His phone vibrated.

_GTFO. CSI just showed up._

Dean didn't need telling twice. He left and booked it for the elevator on the opposite side of the hall. He easily dodged the real cops and hotel manager on his way out. Sam was already waiting outside in the car – Shotgun, where he freaking belonged. Dean slid into the driver's seat and turned the ignition.

“So, what have we got?” Sam asked, scrolling through the photos Dean sent him while he was riding the elevator back to the ground floor.

“Did you know the ski resort was built over an old amusement park that closed in the early nineties?” Dean asked

“No. So?”

“Well, the place had a fatality list at least half as long as ours. A bunch of people died over the years because of crap safety regulations. This was definitely one of them I remember reading about. Pull up 'Action Park' on wikipedia,” Dean said as he steered away from the lodge.

“Huh,” Sam mumbled after a few moments of silence. “I'm guessing it's kayak guy. Wait, _you_ did research?”

“Miracles do happen,” Dean said a little more condescendingly than he meant to. “This whole county is our kind of weird. There's another smaller abandoned theme park the next town over, tons of supposedly haunted houses, and at least two cursed roads – Clinton and Shades of Death. Dude, who calls a road 'Shades of Death'? This state is like Hell for hunters.” Dean sighed and stared at the road ahead. “We're ass deep in at least three cases that are definitely hunts. Oh, and there's an abandoned Playboy motel here in Vernon that's full of squatters and ghosts. The photos look like the real deal.”

“A playboy hotel? _Really_ ? Dean, how did you find all of this?” Sam asked. “How did you have _time_ to find all of this?”

“Uh, like a little while ago. When you went into the lodge. Google weird shit in Sussex County, man. There's a list a mile long, never mind the rest of the state. There's even a haunted asylum down south a bit,” Dean explained. “This isn't like the midwest. This is a really old area. History goes back here to at least the early 1600's when people first started settling along the Delaware and Hudson rivers – what's officially documented anyway. And before that, Native Americans had villages all over the place here. We've got cursed ground, ghosts – whatever, you name it. No signs of vamps or werewolves, though thank fuck. Mostly ghosts and curses.”

“So, we should each take a case and go from there,” Sam suggested. “I'm going to vote out a death echo for this one, though. It looks one, but they don't usually kill. They're just spirits that are trapped in a constant loop of reenacting their deaths,” Sam said, looking out the window with a vacant expression on his face.

“Okay, so, normal vengeful. How did it get there? I'll keep working this case, why don't you pick one of the others? Why don't you look into the other theme park: Gingerbread Castle. It's fairy tale themed, in the next town over – Hamburg,” Dean suggested. “It's abandoned so getting in should be easy. Local lore says it's haunted by the original owner. It's been sold a few times and whoever buys it turns up dead in the castle. It's been for sale for like ten years now.”

Sam pulled out his phone and went to web browser to get a head start on the research. “Yeah, sure,” He mumbled, obviously not convinced that Dean had learned so much about the area in the maybe ten minutes he had been trying to get the hotel manager to let him up to the room.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Gabriel's actually toast?” Dean asked, watching Sam's reaction closely. The moment's hesitation, and slight twitch of his lips gave him away plain as day.

“He went up against Lucifer,” Sam replied. “I mean, I sort of hope he's not dead. The jackass was just starting to grow on me, but... I don't think he bullshit his way out of that. I don't know how he could have. An illusion wouldn't have fooled Lucifer.”

“Yeah, you're right. Never mind. Have you heard from Cas?” Dean asked, all of his fears confirmed. It was real. All of it. Sam was never a good liar, and Dean could see right through him, despite his best attempt. He _had_ actually prayed to Gabriel, about Dean's emotional constipation over Castiel. Really, of all the things he could have asked for help with... Icing the devil wasn't anywhere on that list?

“Yeah, he called before. He's fine. He's looking into some demonic omens in Nevada,” Sam replied.

“He's still pissed at me,” Dean said, as he parked Baby at the motel.

“Wouldn't you be? He gave up everything he's ever believed in, because he believed in you, and you threw it in his face when you went to go to be Michael's little bitch. Can you imagine what would have happened if he hadn't dragged you back? 'Sorry' isn't going to cut it, Dean. Not this time,” Sam said as he got out of the car and dug in his pockets for the motel key. “You're gonna have to talk it out, but he's beyond pissed.”

“I know... Sam, I'm gonna make a beer run. Call if you want something,” Dean said. Sam just shook his head and unlocked the motel room door. Dean could almost see the bitch face through the back of Sam's head.

* * *

 Dean found himself sitting on a picnic table in a park near the motel. It was almost sunset, and the place was deserted. It seemed almost serene, and reminded him of where he had met Gabriel at night when he sent him back to reality. He sighed, gathered his wits, and called Castiel's number on his cell. The angel, of course, didn't answer. Dean closed his eyes and swore under his breath. How was he supposed to be fix things if Cas wouldn't even talk to him? And wasn't _that_ the most painful feeling he'd had in recent times?

“Castiel, I need you. We need to talk, Buddy,” He said to the silent park. “I know you're pissed, and you have every right to be pissed. I fucked up, but I want to make this right, so please just hear me out.”

There was no response, no tell-tale whoosh of feathers in the air behind him, or that monotone 'Hello, Dean' that seemed to serve as the angel's standard and only greeting. He sighed and looked up at the stars that were just starting to appear in the sky, through the bright colors of a spectacular sunset. Dean really wished Cas was there, even if it was just to sit on the bench next to him and watch the sunset – as sappy as that was, it would have been nice. Cas could hear him, though. He knew that.

“I'm sorry, Cas. I know that's not good enough right now, but I'm not going to give up. We'll find another way, okay? There has to be some way to either gank Luci, or toss him back in the pit that doesn't involve him wearing me to prom. We'll think of something. Just don't... Don't leave me, Cas.” Dean leaned on the worn picnic table in front of him and hid his face in his hands. He was _not_ crying. He was _not_ going to cry. He was a grown ass man, who had literally been to hell and back. He could get through this. He had to.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean nearly fell off the bench he was sitting on, as he turned to look at Cas who was sitting next to him, with his back facing the table, and his eyes fixed on the fading sunset.

“Hey, Cas.”

“I never left,” Cas said, still not meeting Dean's eyes.

“I know.”

The silence that followed was stifling, and made Dean want to tear his hair out. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Cas placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Castiel's people skills might have been 'rusty', but no one would argue that he wasn't improving with each passing day.

“Yours is a heavy burden that I would wish upon no one,” Cas said, finally breaking the silence. “I am disappointed, but not angry. Not anymore, at least. You made a mistake, a momentary lapse of judgment, nothing more. I am not sure what our options are in this fight, only that all the odds are against us.”

“Yeah, but we can't give up,” Dean replied.

“Of course not. Humanity deserves to be saved. I am quite fond of it, and I think the other angels might feel the same if they ever get to experience the world as I have,” Castiel said, finally turning to face Dean, who yawned and rubbed his eyes. “You haven't been sleeping.”

“Is it _that_ obvious?” Dean groused, staring at the ground.

“Probably, but I have watched you lie awake at night, or sneak out to watch the stars instead,” Castiel answered.

“You've been watching me not sleep again? Personal space, Cas,” Dean reminded him. His only response was that puppy-like head tilt Cas did when he was confused by something. “Never mind. It's fine. I'm fine. Don't worry about me.”

“You are not fine.”

“Now you sound like Sam. You know what, you're right. I'm not fine. There's nothing you can do though, and I'm still holding up alright, so that means I'm fine,” Dean told him flatly. “Are we done with the chick flick moment? We good? You gonna stop avoiding me now?”

“I... Yes, Dean.” Castiel didn't look sure, but he kept his comments to himself. “What do you dream about?”

“You know what my life's like, are you really surprised that I have nightmares?” Dean snapped, and immediately regretted his venomous tone. The question painfully reminded him of not-Cas the psychotherapist, and he just wasn't going there. Not yet.

“I suppose not,” Cas said, looking a little hurt. “I might be able to help.”

“It's okay, Cas,” Dean insisted.

“I see. I will continue tracking omens for now. Do not hesitate to call me if you need assistance. ...I will come.” With that, Castiel vanished, leaving Dean alone in the small park. Dean had never felt more alone in his life, not even in Hell.  He knew it wouldn't be easy, Gabriel had made that clear, but he didn't think it would be quite this hard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legends Resort is a real abandoned place (my grandmother worked there as housekeeping when it was still the Playboy club), though the haunting and homeless community there are all made up. :3
> 
> Warnings: Brief description of torture in this chapter, but really it's SPN, there's tons of it in cannon so IDK if needs a warning?

Dean wasn't having much luck with his case. It took an entire day to figure out kayak dude's real name, only to discover that he was a European tourist who was cremated before being shipped home in a cardboard box. In the time it took Dean to uncover a single name, Sam had successfully torched the bones of Gingerbread Castle's original owner. He had since moved on his next case, a possible cursed object in the neighboring town of Sparta. Dean yawned and snapped Sam's laptop shut. He had spent the entire day at the library, hoping to figure out his next step. He'd have to break into the water park part of Mountain Creek, but he wasn't sure how much good it would do. The man-made river where the victim had gotten fried had since been filled in and built over. ...Which brought him back to one of his first theories – recycled wiring. It seemed like the only way to put the spirit to rest would be interacting with it, and knowing what it wanted to hear. To do that, he would probably have to summon it.

Dean got up from the table by the window, and searched the motel room for the usual crappy notepad with their logo on it. He found it in the bed stand drawer – next to the obligatory dusty bible. He scribbled a note for Sam to do his thing, and hack into the lodge's bank accounts. If he could find something from around the time of the lodge's construction a few years back, maybe he would have a lead. If parts were recycled from the old theme park, it might be something for the spirit to latch onto. Momentarily, he thought that he should get some sleep, but decided on a couple cups of shitty motel coffee and a trip to the dilapidated remains of the old Playboy hotel. Well, Legends Resort it was called. The Playboy club had closed and sold the hotel several years before it was actually abandoned.

Sam would probably be pissed that he went alone to a squatter infested, haunted hotel alone at night, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care. Sam would be fine; he had that rust-bucket piece of shit pick-up truck that he managed to talk the police chief into letting him borrow from impound. It was easier to cover ground with two vehicles, considering how many cases they had on their hands. Besides, Dean needed the distraction. If he kept busy, he kept his thoughts away from Castiel and the morass of guilt and fear inside his head. He couldn't even talk to Cas. He felt like shit for almost letting Michael in, and was downright terrified of telling Cas how he really felt. The angel wouldn't want to hear it anyway – not that Dean even knew how to put it to words other than 'Hey, I think I'm in love with you, you feathery dick'. Dean would have to build up to it slowly, but how? He would have to get Castiel to actually spend some time with him instead of running off on his own. What he really needed, was a good night's sleep, but with sleep came the nightmares. Were they really worse than being awake, though?

Dean parked Baby in an empty church lot down the road from the hotel. He pocketed an EMF detector, slipped an iron dagger inside his boot, and tucked his pistol into the waistband of the dirtiest, holiest jeans he owned. He checked that none of his other various concealed weapons were visible through the threadbare green flannel he had on, and locked the trunk. He hoped he made a convincing hobo; he doubted the fed suit would get him far with the locals.

“All right,” Dean said and slung a well-used duffel bag full of other useful ghost hunting tools over his shoulder. “Let's do this.”

Dean wasn't expecting as large of a homeless community as he found in the husk of the old hotel. It was surreal, really – Everything from the swimming pool full of stagnant water and frogs, and the half caved in structure looming out of the darkness. Near the entrance, a group of drifters were gathered around a small bonfire that they had lit in the middle of the overgrown parking lot. It was something Dean might have expected to see in the bowels of Detroit, not in the middle of the boonies. He checked that his gun was easily accessible, and approached the motley group near the fire. They eyed him warily as he approached, and Dean wondered if it was really the ghosts he needed to worry about.

“Hey, nice weather tonight,” Dean said awkwardly.

“Where are you from, stranger?” An older man with long silver hair tied into a ponytail asked. He was an old school biker type – ratty leather jacket, covered in tattoos with half a cigaret hanging out of his mouth.

“Lawrence, Kansas,” Dean answered. “The name's Dean.”

“I'm from Arkansas myself – little town called Marshall,” Biker dude answered. “I go wherever the wind takes me these days. Call me Rocky. They've got a pretty nice thing goin' here, but I wouldn't stay long if you're on the run. Cops come by pretty regularly.”

“Thanks, man. I'm just passing through. Anywhere I can crash for the night?” Dean asked, thinking that it would be useful to blend in with the others as best as he could.

“There's clean beds set up in the banquet hall,” A young woman with frizzy, matted, blond dreadlocks piped up. “They'll cost you, though – barter or cash. If you don't have anything to trade, you can sleep upstairs. Most of the old hotel rooms still have some furniture that's better than nothing, but we usually stay downstairs. I'm Liz, by the way.”

“They've got a sort of trade store in the old gift shop, and Ed here used to be an army medic if you need patchin' up,” Rocky added, pointing at an elderly man near him with his thumb. “Really, though. Stay in the banquet hall if you can; you don't want to go upstairs.”

“How come you guys don't go upstairs much?” Dean asked.

“The place is haunted,” Ed said in a gravely tone, finally looking up from his wrinkled hands that he had been warming by the fire. “I've seen it with my own eyes. It's killed people. Two drifters a month or so back. Buried 'em both out back. It had to be the ghost, anyway. Nothing human could've done 'em like that.”

“So, a murderous Playboy bunny?” Dean said incredulously. “That sounds kind of hot, to be honest. I'll take my chances. I like a little S&M sometimes.”

Rocky laughed heartily and slapped Dean on the shoulder. “This one, I like. She's no bunny, though. I saw her a few nights ago, exploring the upper floors; I'm an urban explorer of sorts, so I had to take a look at this old place. Anyway, it's a little girl in a pink dress, soaking wet like a drowned rat.”

“According to the stories, she was a maintenance guy's granddaughter. She was the only family he had, so he took her to work with him because he couldn't afford a babysitter,” Liz explained. “One day, some crazy nabbed her and drowned her in a bathtub on the third floor. It was three days before they found her body.”

“She's not the only one, though.” Liz took a sip from the obviously reused Styrofoam coffee cup in her hands. “There's a man I saw on the second floor. He chased me down the hall, but I ran like hell and he couldn't follow me into the stairwell for some reason. He kept yelling something about some guy stabbing him for drugs, and that he was gonna 'put a cap in his ass'. I know it sounds nuts, but I swear to God the dude's intestines were hanging out and kind of dragging on the ground behind him.”

“How long have you guys been here?” Dean asked curiously.

“Ed's been here almost fifteen years,” Liz replied. “He's like a father to me, and brought me here about four years ago – found me on the street strung out on heroine. I'd be dead otherwise.”

Rocky shrugged. “About a week, but like I said, I'm a wanderer. All I need is my Harley, and the tent I keep folded up on my bike. I've been photographing the abandoned parts of the hotel; it's a hobby of mine.”

“Well, thanks for the help, guys. I think I'm gonna call it a night,” Dean said and headed inside.

He bypassed the lobby that had been made into a sort of bar/casino with makeshift card tables, and a worn pool table they must have pulled out of the hotel somewhere. He decided to have a look at the upper floors, and rent a bed later when he was ready to crash. The elevators, obviously were out of commission, so he headed for the stairwell. Once he closed the door behind him on the second floor, he couldn't hear any of the chatter from downstairs. He was alone in the dark, with only the sound of his own breathing to keep him company. Dean didn't normally get the creeps on a case, but something about this place was different. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and it was several degrees colder than it should have been for a summer night. He really shouldn't have gone alone, but it was too late to turn back – or so he told himself. He pulled his flashlight out of his duffel and headed for the first doors in front of him as he resigned himself to a sleepless night. There was a lot of ground to cover. He got out the EMF detector, and started down the hallway, pausing near each door to see if he got a read.

Most of the doors were open, or missing entirely – probably re-purposed into something else by the squatters downstairs. The rooms were mostly intact, with rotting furniture, but ransacked for anything useful. Dean couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, but the EMF detector was silent. He nearly squealed like a girl when his phone went off. Swearing under his breath, he fished it out of his pocket.

“What?” He said quietly, having seen that it was Sam's number.

“I got nothing on the bank accounts. But, I did find you something. It's a cursed object you're dealing with. I did some digging, and I found out that when the case was under investigation, the cops took the kayak the guy was using as evidence. It sat in the impound lot forever, and eventually one of the cops took it home but never used it. The cop's son took it, and just went kayaking on the Delaware with it last weekend. It's the same guy that got cooked at the lodge,” Sam explained, so quickly Dean barely caught all of it. “Anyway, It was in the cop's garage and he let me have it since his kid said it kept flipping over on him, and he's smart enough to hate the thing considering the way his son died. Anyway, I'm about to light this mother up, but I figured I would tell you.”

“You're going to burn a kayak?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows as the EMF detector finally caught a weak signal.

“It's wood, actually. I'm surprised it's in such good shape for as old as it is,” Sam replied. “Where are you?”

“Uh, playboy hotel. I've got faint EMF on the second floor, and the, uh, locals filled me in on the back story. Little girl drowned in a tub, and dude stabbed to shit in a drug deal that went south,” Dean explained.

“Dean,” Sam complained, and he could almost hear the bitch face through the phone. “We agreed to do that one together. It's not safe alone.”

“Yeah, if I get in any trouble I'll call Cas,” Dean lied. “It's fine. Probably just a salt and burn, or two. The squatters here know to stay out of the upper floors. I guess downstairs is safe, but shit gets real if they come up here. Oh hey, I got something.”

“What is it?”

Dean aimed the EMF detector at the closed door in front of him. It lit up red. “I think I found the room the drug dealer got ganked in,” Dean said and knocked on the door. “I'll check in later. See if you can find graves for the people who've died here.”

Dean knocked again. There was no answer. He pocketed the EMF detector and kicked the door open. The half-rotten wood gave easily and it fell off the hinges entirely. He pulled his sawed-off loaded with rock salt out of his duffel bag, which he left on the floor beside the door, and headed into the room.

“Alright you son of a bitch,” Dean said, glancing around the room. “Come on out.”

Nothing happened. He stepped further into the room, and felt the air go cold. Dean narrowed his eyes and kept his finger on the trigger. Nothing caught his eyes, until he saw something sticking out from under the mangled remains of a bed – a human hand. Cautiously, Dean moved forward and the hand shimmered out of existence. Maybe if he hadn't been so sleep deprived, he might have seen or felt the ghost materialize behind him. Or, at least had the reflexes to shoot the fucker. Instead, everything went black.

* * *

 

Hell. He was in Hell. Again. Dean struggled against the leather cuffs holding him to a blood soaked rack – soaked, probably, with his blood. He writhed in agony as he tried to slip his hands through the bindings. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, but only retched at the pungent scent of rotting flesh and old blood that hung heavy in the air. He had to get out. He wasn't dead, was he? He couldn't remember much, just the moment he hung up the phone after talking to Sam at the Playboy hotel. Still alive, he had to be. He hadn't met a reaper, after all. And, as far as he knew, he hadn't made any new demon deals to earn him an express ticket to the pit.

“Dean, Dean, Dean...” Oh, no. He knew that voice.

“Fuck you,” He retorted and spat blood at Alistair, who responded by stabbing him in the leg with a rusty dagger.

Dean grunted and bit his lip until it bled. He would not scream. He would not cry out. Alistair wasn't going to get the satisfaction, not from him.

“What's the matter, Dean? Didn't expect to come back here, did you? Well, that's too bad. It looks like you're stuck with me, and there won't be any pesky angels coming to... 'Grip you tight and raise you from perdition' this time,” Alistair told him, trailing the tip of his dagger across Dean's inner thigh. “You've lost your touch, I'm afraid. I'll just have to retrain you, from the beginning.”

“God I hate your voice,” Dean whined. “It's so fucking annoying. Listening to you talk is worse that anything you can do with that pig sticker.”

“Is that so?” Alistair purred. “I'll be the judge of that.” He placed the dagger against the zipper of Dean's jeans and sliced the fabric open.

“Oh come _on,_ ” Dean moaned. “Really? You aren't going to buy me dinner first?”

“You're right, we'll save that for last,” Alistair replied, and drove the dagger into Dean's chest, burying it to the hilt, maybe half an inch from his heart.

Dean let out an involuntary gasp as Alistair pulled it back out and blood ran down his bare chest.

“We don't need that either,” Alistair commented, and slowly flayed the skin off Dean's chest where his anti-possession tattoo was.

Dean's head was spinning from blood loss. It took everything he had to stay awake, to keep breathing. He knew Alistair wouldn't let him die. He'd just break him apart, and put him back together as many times as it took for him to snap. He didn't even notice that his head had fallen down onto his chest until Alistair lifted his chin up with the blade of his dagger.

“Look at you. Pathetic. I have a lot of work to do. I guess It'll be the toes next...”

Dean couldn't help it anymore, as Alistair started slicing, he started screaming – screaming for Cas to save him, shouting that he loved him and begging him not to leave him there.

Dean jerked violently as he woke up, panting for breath. He ached all over, still able to feel every cut Alistair had given him. Someone was holding him down. Instinctively, he tried to punch them, but his wrist was caught in a grip far stronger than his own. He struggled to escape, but whoever – whatever – was holding him only tightened their grasp.

“Dean!” A familiar voice called to him.

Castiel? Why was Cas in hell? He had to escape. The angel needed his help, probably.

“Dean!”

Dean's thoughts came to a screeching halt as the familiar, tingly feeling of Castiel's grace touching him brought him back to reality. Dean blinked several times, and looked up in confusion to see Castiel holding him with his head in his lap. Castiel had his fingers tangled in Dean's hair, and Dean's wrist gripped tightly in his other hand.

“Cas?” Dean asked in a broken whisper. “What happened?”

“You let your guard down and the spirit attacked you from behind with some sort of blunt object. I have healed the damage, but had I arrived any later, you most likely would have bled out. Your skull was smashed in from the back,” Castiel explained, without letting go of him. “I heard you calling out to me, so I came and found you unconscious.”

“But I was...” Dean frowned, and really wished Cas would let go of him. Having his head in the angel's lap would have been awkward enough, pathetic pining non-withstanding. “Can you hear me 'pray' for you in a dream?”

“Apparently,” Cas said and finally released his hold on Dean's wrist. Dean struggled to sit up, but Cas held him down. “We do share a –”

“ – Profound bond, I know,” Dean quipped. “What does that even mean, Cas?”

“It means, I know every inch of your soul. I put it back together, after all – piece by piece,” Castiel explained and finally allowed Dean to sit up slowly. He almost passed out as he did. “When an angel takes a vessel, a bit of their grace is always left behind. While I never possessed you, you do have a bit of my grace in you; you always will. Which is probably why, even in a nightmare, I could hear you.”

“Uh... Okay,” Dean replied. “Maybe we should, you know, get out of here.”

“Of course.”

Dean barely blinked his eyes, and they were back in the motel room. Sam, who had been taken by surprise, tripped over himself and face-planted into his laptop as he reflexively tried to get up and grab his gun. When he saw it was Dean and Cas, he sighed and flopped back into the chair.

“I _told_ you not to go alone,” Sam Chastised Dean. Dean ignored him and shrugged off Castiel's light hold on his shoulder. Cas just managed to catch him, as he almost became more intimately familiar with the shitty motel carpet than anyone in their right mind would want to be. He let Cas half carry him to his bed, and the angel nearly threw him into it.

“I'm fine, Sam.” Dean picked a bit of dried blood out of his hair.

“Shut up, Dean. Cas called me, and told me the state he found you in,” Sam snapped angrily.

“I have to go back in the morning. I can -”

“Cas and I will go back in the morning. You're on research duty until further notice. You can't handle this alone. You aren't sleeping, you're drinking like a fish, and jumping at shadows. I'm not blind, Dean. Something's wrong, and until you work out your bullshit you aren't going near a hunt,” Sam ranted.

“Are you done, Mom?” Dean quipped.

“Shut up,” Sam and Cas said in unison.

“Cas, I'm going to go light up that God damned kayak. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid,” Sam said, angrier than Dean had seen him in a long time. Castiel sat on the edge of Dean's bed and sighed wearily.

“I'm not sorry,” Dean hissed.

“I wouldn't expect otherwise.” Cas helped him out of his coat and threw the blankets over him. “Get some sleep. I barely managed to save you; you will be fatigued for some time.”

“I don't... I'm not tired,” Dean lied.

“Go to sleep, Dean.” Whatever protest Dean was about to make was silenced as Cas pressed his hand to Dean's forehead and he more passed out than fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's case is a real location, and a not entirely fake haunting.

“You alright, Cas?” Sam asked, taking a sip of coffee. He made a face, and got up to dump it in the sink. Motel coffee was never good, but that was the worst he had ever had. It literally tasted like mud.

Castiel didn't answer, he just stared into space and nodded his head slightly. Sam sighed and opened his laptop to check the local news. Thankfully, there didn't seem to be anything new to add to their growing list of definitely hunts.

“You haven't moved from that spot since last night,” Sam pressed. “What happened that you two idiots didn't tell me about?”

“Nothing,” Cas finally answered, turning to face Sam. “It's just... I almost lost him Sam. If I had been a moment later...”

“Well, you weren't.” Sam closed out of the news and began researching the identities of the people known to have died at the Playboy hotel. For a while, they sat in silence as Sam worked, Cas barely taking his eyes off of Dean. It might have freaked Sam out, if he hadn't been used to the way Cas looked at Dean. Absently, as he scrolled through old death certificates on the town's police database, Sam wondered if Gabriel had done anything about what they'd talked about. He must have given the way Dean had asked him, seemingly out of the blue, about the archangel. Gabriel, of course, had been delighted for the opportunity to fuck with Dean. Cas, he said, it would be best to leave alone. He'd figure it out eventually, it was Dean that Gabriel was convinced needed help removing his head from his ass. Sam didn't disagree, but he worried about Cas.

“Dean never called for me, not consciously.” Sam looked up over the top of the laptop. Cas was still watching Dean sleeping peacefully as he spoke. “He was having a nightmare, and praying for me to save him from whatever he was dreaming about. It was strange. Normally I wouldn't be able to hear something like that. What he said, though... Maybe that was why.”

“What did he say?” Sam asked curiously.

Castiel shook his head and got up. “Nothing. It is not important. I will look into one of your other cases while you research this one. Is there one in particular you would like me to check on?”

Sam handed him the motel notepad that had a good four pages of possible cases. “Nope, take your pick.”

Cas read over the list for a few moments, before vanishing and leaving Sam to his work. Sam glanced at the spot where he had been standing, and tried not to think too hard about what Gabriel might have done to get to Dean. He was obviously freaking out. While Sam wasn't thrilled about them needing to work separately to cover the amount of cases they had, he didn't usually worry that much about Dean. He could hold his own, and he was better than this. When was the last time some crap spirit actually got the jump on Dean? Not since they were kids, that Sam could remember. ...Unless it wasn't about Gabriel. Dean was practically allergic to talking about feelings, and there was a good chance it was his own bullshit dragging him down. When would he, and Cas for that matter, learn how to use their damn words?

Sam stole a glance at Dean. Castiel said he wouldn't wake up for another hour. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop, and snapped his laptop shut. He didn't have time for this, with all the work they had to do, but it was only supposed to be one stupid witch... Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Gabriel, if you're listening, we need to talk.” Sam only jumped slightly at the tell-tale rustling sound as Gabriel appeared beside him. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to having angels around.

“How's it hanging, Sammich?” Gabriel asked, around a mouthful of a snickers bar.

“Not great,” Sam lamented. “I think I hate New Jersey.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically and plopped into the chair across from him. “You're supposed to say 'a little to the left'. You're welcome, by the way, I managed to drop a few hints to Dean so he was able to figure out what fresh Hell you're actually dealing with.”

“They say ignorance is bliss,” Sam countered bitterly. “I wanted to ask you about that, actually. What the fuck did you do to him, Gabe? He's a mess.”

Gabriel shrugged and tossed his empty snickers wrapper on the floor as he shoved the last bit of it in his mouth. “Me? Nothing. He was a train wreck waiting to happen, and boy did that wreck crash into the station – on fire. The shit hit the fan, that's all. You know Dean-o. He would rather light himself on fire than talk about _feelings_.”

“What did you do?” Sam repeated, narrowing his eyes.

Gabe leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands, with his elbows on the edge of the table. “I trapped him in an illusion for about a week, only about an hour passed here when he fell asleep in that shitmobile you boys call a car yesterday. Anyway, in that illusion he was married to Cassie. It was all very cliché, and definitely not my best work, but it did the job. I let him go, because he figured it out – how he feels about Cas, I mean. I imagine he's terrified. Applying what he learned there to the real world isn't going to be easy for either of them.”

“Wow,” Sam commented, raising his eyebrows. “Hey, if someone prays to you in a dream, can you hear it?”

“Nope. Not that I've ever heard of. That's not really a prayer, since it's not said consciously,” Gabriel explained. “Anyhow, this has been fun but I have business to attend to – you know, douchebags to smite. Later Sammy.”

Sam glared disdainfully at the discarded candy wrapper, which he picked up like it was the most disgusting thing he had ever touched, and flicked it into the trashcan nearby.

* * *

 

 Castiel sat on the edge of a small stone wall beside the road, in front of the home he was investigating. On the outside, it seemed normal. It was an older building, but not very well maintained with an overgrown lawn. Something felt off, though, something Castiel couldn't quite put his finger on. According to Sam's notes, the family that lived in the house had all died one night last week. The official cause of death was carbon monoxide poisoning from a backed up furnace, but the furnace was fine and there were no traces of carbon monoxide in the air. The house had something of a dark history. It had been built in the early 19 th  century, and burnt down a few years later, killing everyone inside. It was then rebuilt using the original foundation, and a fire in the loft killed another person. There had been no other recorded deaths on the property, but the previous owner's wife had gone missing and was last seen entering the front door after speaking with the neighbor. She was never seen again.

Castiel tucked the papers in his coat pocket and walked into the front porch that was enclosed by old window panes, some of them with cracks in the glass. He knocked the door, but got no answer – not that he expected one. He kicked it open and headed inside. The place had mostly been cleaned out, aside from some old furniture that had seen better days and an old grandfather clock in a corner near the stairway that was no loner working. Castiel pulled one of the Winchesters' EMF detectors out of his pocket and switched it on. Sure, he could mostly sense the presence of spirits, but the odd device seemed to be more precise in locating the source of them. There was a weak signal throughout the main floor of the house, and seemingly strongest in the kitchen. Nothing physically seemed out of place, aside from a child's scrawl on the wall near the floor in the dining room.

“Let me out,” Castiel read, frowning. Well, that was ominous. He decided to head down to the basement.

Immediately, Castiel sensed something wrong – as did the EMF detector. It lit up red as he descended the stairs. The cellar itself was empty, with a dirt floor. Castiel could see where the original foundation met the newer construction, as crumbling red bricks changed over to concrete. A closed door led to a an unused wine storage room, where it was far too cold to be normal, and the EMF reader went crazy. Castiel switched it off. He didn't need it to feel the presence looming over him. Nor, did he need a shovel to know that there was a body buried in the dirt floor of the old wine cellar. The previous owner's missing wife, most likely. He retreated upstairs, and the chill stayed behind. Next, he climbed the wooden staircase to the second floor.

The bathroom seemed to be a later addition, as the original structure had an outhouse, that was still standing in the back yard, albeit barely. The upstairs felt like the basement – unwelcoming and cold. It was in the bathroom that Castiel saw his first apparition. An older man was standing there, pointing at the ceiling and saying something that he couldn't hear. He didn't seem hostile, and vanished after a few seconds. The master bedroom had a massive walk-in closet, that was home to another spirit that lunged for him. Castiel slashed her away with a crowbar that he had been concealing in his coat. Salting and burning the bodies was looking less and less like an option. There were just too many of them. He would have to cleanse the house somehow, or use hidden wards to drive them out.

In the second bedroom, the wallpaper was half torn off and the ghost of a little boy looked up at him pleadingly before shimmering out of existence. Only the woman in the closet had been malevolent, Castiel noted to himself as the EMF detector picked up something along the wall between the bedroom and the bathroom. Curiously, he pulled back the hideous blue wallpaper, to reveal a small wooden door. He slid it open, and nearly choked on the dust that came flying out. It was an old crawl space. Castiel sighed and got down on his knees; he would have to crawl to fit inside. It was full of old junk that had been there probably since the last century. Everything from decaying clothes, to old holiday decorations and... Was that a foot? Castiel inched closer, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. The long forgotten body of a little girl was bundled up in blankets and left to rot there. There wasn't much left of her but bones and the clothes she had been wearing – a little mint green dress trimmed with lace, and stained with blood.

Castiel left the house, and knocked on the next door neighbor's door. An elderly woman answered, and looked at him curiously.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

Castiel pulled out his fake FBI badge. “I am agent Novak with the FBI. I would like to ask you some questions about the house next to you.”

“Oh, it's so sad what happened to Don and Marion, and the kids... Why the kids...” The woman shook her head sadly. “It would have been little Jessie's birthday next week.”

“I am truly sorry,” Castiel said softly. “Have you noticed anything strange lately, before the accident?”

“Strange?” The woman said, frowning. “Well, this whole road is a little strange. I think every family has lost someone in the last year. There's the family down by the river, the husband got crushed by a piece of roofing that fell, but I know they just replaced the roof a few months ago. Oh, and the man across the street found some kid with a fourwheeler dead. The poor thing decapitated himself on something, but the police never figured it out. And my husband... Well, I'll never forget how he died. I came home one day and there he was – just lying there with his throat cut, but all the windows and doors were locked and we never found what did it.”

“Have you noticed anything else? Like cold spots, or flickering lights?” Castiel pressed. Dean would be proud of him, Castiel thought, his people skills were certainly improving. Or, at least he assumed so.

“Oh, all the time, dear. You know these old houses. The wiring's a hundred years old and so's the coal stove.”

“Thank you for your time,” Castiel told her, and left.

He spoke to everyone else on the street that was home. It was all the same stories. Tragic, unexplained deaths in every house, or on the surrounding property. He might have suspected a witch, if he hadn't seen so many wandering spirits. It was definitely a curse, though. Unholy ground, perhaps? He would have to ask Sam to do some more research on the entire area, and not just the one house. Castiel decided to call it a day and flew back to the motel.

“What did you find?” Sam asked immediately, as Castiel brushed dust off of his coat.

“Several spirits, though most of them seem to be trapped and are harmless. There are at least two bodies – possibly the previous owner's missing wife buried in the cellar, and a little girl who was sealed in a crawl space,” Castiel explained. “There's too many to just burn the bones.”

“That's lovely,” Dean commented, coming out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. “So, how do we purify the place.”

“I know some rituals and warding that may work,” Castiel supplied. “However the problem is not just the one house. Every home on the street has a similar tale. I suspect something larger is at play.”

“Cursed ground?” Sam thought aloud, flipping through his father's journal.

“That was my first assumption,” Castiel agreed. His eyes lingered on the toned muscles of Dean's back, and his messy wet hair, as he bent over to dig through his duffel bag for clean clothes. He caught himself staring and shook his head as Dean turned around. The words from Dean's prayer the previous night echoed through his mind – 'Cas, please... I love you, don't leave me here! I need you!'

“Cas?” He blinked and found that Dean was standing in front of him, a bit too close for comfort. And where had that come from? Wasn't it usually him that didn't understand that he shouldn’t stand so close? 'Personal space, Cas!', the familiar complaint jumped into his memory.

“How are you feeling, Dean? Did you sleep well?” He asked, in an even tone despite the storm raging inside of him. What was this feeling that crept up on him lately? It was so complicated, and uncomfortable.

“Better than I have in a while,” He replied. “Cas, are you alright?” Dean asked, stepping a bit closer.

“I am fine,” He replied, taking a step back. Sam noticed, Castiel could tell by the way he lifted his eyebrows just slightly and hid a smirk behind the cup of take-out coffee he had gotten somewhere.

“Hmm, whatever.” Dean retreated back into the bathroom with his pile of clothes. Castiel wished he would leave them off, and the realization hit him like a brick wall.

“I will look into another case,” He said a bit more shrilly than he meant to, and flew to the park nearby.

He half collapsed, half threw himself into the same wooden bench he had sat on with Dean the other day. The park was empty aside from an elderly man walking his dog. Castiel closed his eyes and tried to will his traitorous thoughts away. Lust, that's what it was. It couldn't end well. He shouldn't feel that way for his friend. He shouldn't feel that way at all. He knew that the more time he spent on earth, the more human he became himself, but... How should he handle this? Dean could never find out. How could even trust himself to be around Dean? He would just have to avoid him, at least until the feeling subsided.

* * *

“Something's wrong with Cas,” Dean said the instant that the angel vanished.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “He's completely spaced out.”

“Now what did I do?” Dean complained, using his fingers to straighten his hair.

“Okay, you know what, enough is enough,” Sam said and pointed at the empty chair across the table from him. “Start talking, Dean.”

“I didn't do anything!” Dean snapped, sounding scandalized.

“Yeah, I know. But the thing is, I'm not blind. I see the way you look at each other. The sexual tension between you two is insane. Like, how do you even live with it?” Sam said. Dean opened his mouth, probably to spew some kind of indignant reply, but Sam just talked over him. “Don't start with that 'I'm not gay' BS, either. We both know there's such a thing as bisexuality, and don't you even try to deny it. You went full-on fangirl when Gabriel trapped us that TV land crap. We both know your pants got a little tight when you saw Doctor Sexy.”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean sank into the chair, the picture of defeat.

“No, you shut up and handle this.”

“How?”

Sam frowned and took a sip of coffee. In Dean's defense, it was a good question. If it was just some girl, he could just take her out for dinner or something – not that it would have been an issue in the first place. Dean never had a problem picking up girls, much to Sam's constant annoyance. Cas wasn't just some piece of meat, either. If Dean fucked it up, well, Sam didn't want to see them ruin their friendship over it. ...Which was probably exactly what would happen, because Cas was innocent and oblivious, and Dean was an emotionally constipated moron who never really had a proper relationship. Sure, there was Lisa, but the pieces sort of fell into place. Dean didn't really have to go through the whole getting together thing with her, they just were and he never needed to think about it.

“Well, you can start by admitting that you have feelings for him,” Sam said, unsure how Dean would react.

Dean sighed and hid his face in his hands. “How did this happen, Sammy?”

Well, it wasn't exactly what Sam was looking for, but for Dean the rhetorical question was good as a confession of undying love.

“That doesn't matter. Just be patient with him. Have you told him at all?” Sam inquired.

Dean finally met his eyes. “No, but I think my subconscious might have.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Avengers came out in 2012, which is a little after this in SPN's timeline... but whatever, it's fan fiction, lol. I couldn't help myself. Anyway, this case is entirely made up. :3

Dean restlessly paced the length of the motel room. He was bored out of his mind, which meant he was alone with his thoughts. That was deadly. He needed to do something – anything. He promised Sam he wouldn't go off alone, but as far as he knew Cas was with him digging up the graves of the ghosts at the Playboy hotel. He didn't have his head in the game, according to Sam, so it was safer if he stayed behind to 'sort out his shit'. What he wanted to do was pull his hair out. He could take the truck Sam borrowed from the police impound. The keys were right on the table in front of him. He glanced out the window at the piece of shit Chevy pick-up that was older than he was, and grabbed the keys. He threw his duffel bag full of weapons in the rusted toolbox in the truck bed, and hopped into the driver's seat. It took three tries to get the damned thing to start.

“Going somewhere? I thought you were on house arrest.”

Dean almost strangled himself in the seat belt as he nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared wide-eyed at Gabriel who was sitting in the passenger seat with a lollipop in his mouth, scrolling through something on his cellphone.

“Get out,” Dean snapped.

“I know you won't stay here, so why don't we work together for a bit? Hm? Think of the fun we'll have!” Gabe tossed his lollipop stick out of the window and put his feet up on the dash.

“How come you're always shoving candy in your face hole? Cas never eats, says he can taste all the molecules or something,” Dean asked as Gabe picked at a cigaret burn hole in the leather seat beside him.

“I've been here a lot longer than Cas,” Gabe answered simply. “It takes getting used to, and I only eat sweets. I don't _need_ to eat, but I enjoy the taste of sugar. Anyway, where are we going?”

“ _I_ am going to check out another case,” Dean growled. “There was a weird death in the paper this morning. A guy drowned his kitchen sink. His wife swore he was fighting it, and she tried to pull him out, but something was holding him in.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and a newspaper appeared in his hands. “Warwick, huh? Can this shit wagon make it that far?”

“Better than your stupid Hyundai,” Dean quipped. “And it's not that far.”

“I don't actually drive a Hyundai you know,” Gabe said with a smirk. “I drive a Lincoln, when it's necessary to keep a low profile.”

“That's worse than the Hyundai,” Dean countered, pulling out of the motel parking lot.

“It has air conditioned seats,” Gabe whined. “Air. Conditioned. Seats.”

“Whatever, Grandma.”

Most of the drive was spent in silence. If anyone ever told Dean he would be working a case with an Archangel who had been the same trickster that fucked him up on multiple occasions, he would have laughed in their face – and probably shot them for good measure. Gabe, as it happened, wasn't entirely useless and definitely had better people skills than Cas. Before they arrived at the old farmhouse at the end of a dirt road, he had used an illusion to change into a crisp black suit with a green scarf, and mojoed himself a fake FBI badge. Dean narrowed his eyes.

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Really?”

“ _What_?”

“You think I don't know that's Loki's outfit from that one scene in Avengers?” Dean said, unable to keep himself from laughing. “You're kind of adorable.”

“Shut up, assclown. I am not _adorable_.”

Dean barely managed to keep a straight face as he and Gabe flashed their badges for the dead man's wife and introduced themselves.

“Agent Laufeyson? _Really?_ ” Dean whispered with a chuckle as they followed the woman, Tracy, into her living room. Gabe only gave Dean his very best shit eating grin as they sat on the ugliest flower-print couch in all of creation.

“I bet he killed himself because his living room looks like Umbridge's office,” Gabe mumbled, with a wink.

“I hate that I understood that reference,” Dean grumbled, rolling his eyes. He cleared his throat and nodded to Tracy. “We're sorry to bother you Ma'am; we won't take much of your time.”

“Was your husband behaving strangely at all before the accident?” Gabriel asked, and gave Tracy a warm smile as she offered them fresh baked cookies. Sam probably would have slapped both of their hands as they reached for them and shoved them in their mouths, but he wasn't there to be a killjoy, for once.

“Mike was fine,” Tracy said sadly. “He was just helping me wash up the dinner dishes and... The next thing I knew, I heard this gurgling noise and a bunch of plates breaking. I tried to help him, but...”

“Did he have any enemies that you know of?” Dean asked,

“Enemies? No! Everyone loved him,” Tracy told them, mopping tears from her cheeks.

“I see. Would you mind if we have a quick look around?” Dean pressed. She motioned for them to go ahead, so Dean called dibs on the cellar and ground floor. Gabriel headed upstairs.

There was no EMF, sulfur, or hex bags that Dean could find anywhere. The place was clean, but that didn't mean anything. Witchcraft was easy to hide, if they cleaned up after themselves. Luckily, most witches seemed to love spewing bodily fluids everywhere so finding them, while disgusting, wasn't usually hard. God, he hated witches. He knelt down and peeked underneath the old wooden cabinets, and something caught his eye – a loose floorboard in front of the sink. He checked over his shoulder to make sure that Tracy was still talking on her phone, and not watching him. Her back was still turned to him, so he pulled a pocket knife out of his sleeve and pried the floorboard up.

“Yahtzee,” Dean whispered, shaking his head and pocketed a small hex bag made of purple velvet. He pulled out his phone, and tried to recall Gabriel's phone number from his contacts list when he was stuck in the stupid dreamworld.

 _Got it. It's a witch._ He typed and snatched another cookie from the tray on the kitchen counter.

 _You remembered my phone number?_ Gabriel texted back, as he made his way back down the stairs.

“Everything seems to be in order here,” Dean said to Tracy and slipped him one of his FBI business cards. “Call us if anything comes up.”

Back in the truck, Gabriel took apart the hex bag as Dean drove. “There's dragon bones in here, an old wedding ring, and a shrunken succubus heart. And is that... Gross. It's a shriveled up foreskin. This is some serious hoodoo. Probably a revenge spell, against someone who wasn't a fan of monogamy.”

“So good old Mike had a secret,” Dean replied. “Tracy?”

“Nah she seemed so... Dean?” Gabriel grabbed onto the dash as Dean almost flipped the truck in a mad rush to pull over. He nearly fell out of it as he scrambled to get out, and vomited violently all over his shoes and the side of the truck. His head felt like it was going to burst, and his insides had to be turning to liquid, judging by the amount of pain he was in. At least it wasn't coming out of the other end.

“Find it!” Dean managed to gasp as Gabriel immediately had the sense to start digging through the truck for another hex bag. Dean held onto the side of the truck, and sank to his knees as he watched blood splatter on the grass as he dry-heaved. “Hurry!” He choked out.

“There's nothing... Wait... the cookies? They probably wouldn’t effect me.” Gabriel pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead. The pain, and most of the nausea vanished.

He sagged against the truck, gasping for breath and wiped blood off his face. For a moment he closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. Gabriel offered him a mint that he dug out of his pocket, and Dean shoved it in his mouth without even thinking about it. After a few moments of swearing, he got back into the truck and turned it around so hard that the tires screeched. They were back at the farmhouse within minutes, and Tracy was _not_ happy to see them. She managed to hit Gabriel with some sort of paralysis spell, but Dean was _pissed_ and running on pure adrenaline laced with spite, as he dodged it and jammed a dagger in her gut. He and Gabe didn't say a word to each other as they took the body out back and lit it on fire. Dean just pulled the motel notepad with their list of hunts out of his pocket, and crossed off 'dude drowned in sink', before shoving it back in his pocket.

* * *

 

Once they finished burning the bones of the ghosts haunting the abandoned hotel, Sam and Castiel went their separate ways. Castiel did not want to return to the motel – to Dean. He went to the park again, instead. It was relaxing there, and reminded him a bit of his preferred space in heaven where the autistic man eternally flew his kite and hummed happily to himself. There were a couple of children playing nearby, but otherwise the place was quiet. Castiel sighed and stared at the ground beneath his feet. What should he do? He couldn't run forever. He thought the horrible feeling in his chest would subside if he stayed away, but it only got worse the more he thought of his hunter. He squeezed his eyes shut, and willed that thought away.

Dean wasn't his – would never be his, not in the way that Castiel's traitorous body seemed to want him. Even if Dean hadn't made his preference for females glaringly obvious, it still could never be. Dean was mortal. He couldn't even see Castiel's true form, or hear his real voice. Never mind, that poor Jimmy would most likely not approve of him using his body for _that_ , regardless of his partner's gender.

“What are you thinking about?” Castiel looked up at Gabriel with wide eyes, and a loss for words. “Let me guess, your boyfriend?”

“You're alive?” Castiel said, reaching out to touch his arm to make sure he was real.

“You didn't really think I would let him get me, did you?” Gabriel asked, and sat beside Castiel. “Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about you. You look like shit.”

Castiel didn't answer, he just stared ahead at the slowly setting sun. Maybe he could talk with Gabriel about how to deal with his crisis. He had been on earth for centuries. ...Maybe Gabriel would tease him, or worse – tell Dean.

“I am fine,” Castiel lied. He couldn't take that risk, couldn't get his hopes up. He was already too attached to the hunter as it was.

Gabriel picked a fallen leaf out of Castiel's hair. “Yeah, and I'm the queen of England.”

“I think I'm falling,” Castiel said sadly, looking back up at the sky.

“Well you chose humanity and free will over Heaven,” Gabriel said and shrugged. “So did I. It's scary at first, but it's not so bad. I'm still a badass. Sometimes I miss Heaven, but then I remember that Heaven doesn't have Doctor Sexy reruns or ill-advised orgies with Pagan Gods.”

“Does your vessel approve of that?” Castiel asked, giving him a reproachful glare.

“Oh, yeah. We're besties. Sometimes I let him take over. He's the one who has a thing for Kali. I've found that I prefer men,” Gabriel replied. “I suppose your holy tax accountant is a bit more of a stick in the mud.”

“He is a good, faithful man.”

“Uh huh. If you're so worried? Why don't you ask him?” Gabriel flew off, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts.

Castiel considered Gabriel's advice, and slipped into a meditative state. Deep within his subconscious, Jimmy lived in his own little world – not unlike the way Heaven changed to make individual slices of paradise for its residents. For Jimmy, that was a run-down burger joint in his home town. He always chose the booth by the window, where he could watch the world pass by as he enjoyed the one guilty pleasure he had in his life. His wife, Amelia insisted on eating healthy, but every now and then Jimmy would slip into the dingy little place for a big sloppy burger on his lunch break. Castiel sat across from him as he licked a bit of ketchup off of his fingertip.

“Hello, Castiel.” He never looked too happy to see him, not that the angel could blame the poor guy.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

“You should try a burger, you might like it. They have the best fries in this place, too.” Jimmy wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “Maybe a beer. Or, you know, just pull the stick out of your ass.”

“I don't know what that means.”

“Of course you wouldn't.”

Cas picked up the menu that was leaning against the window and stared at it, not wanting to look at Jimmy. What was he doing, anyway? He didn't have to discuss any of this with his vessel to know that he wouldn't approve of it. Maybe it was just his guilt bothering him to make sure Jimmy wasn't completely miserable. Were angels supposed to feel guilty? That was new as well, but easier to understand than the tempest of emotions that welled up in him when he was too close to Dean.

“Look, Castiel, you wouldn't be here if you didn't want something from me. So, what is it?” Jimmy asked, picking at his fries.

“I am falling.”

“So, after everything you've put me through, you're failing at your Heavenly duty? Whatever that is.” Jimmy looked out the window at a woman walking a poodle. She waved at them as she passed.

“No, my duty has simply changed. I must serve humanity, instead of God,” Castiel explained.

“Are you still an angel if you don't serve God?”

“None of my brothers or sisters have seen Him, or heard His voice in millenia. We cannot rely on Him to be our salvation. I must find my own path. I have to stop Lucifer and Michael from destroying His creation,” Castiel explained.

“Well, then get to it,” Jimmy replied.

“Of course. I just wanted to tell you.”

“And was that it?”

Castiel laid the menu down. “I am experiencing... Human emotions.”

Jimmy took a sip of his vanilla milkshake and leaned back in his seat. “I've seen enough of the Sci-Fi movies Claire loves to know where this is going. It's Dean, right? I can tell. Sometimes the real world leaks through when you feel something strongly enough, Castiel.”

“I don't know what to do.”

“Is this you trying to ask me what to do? Or, for permission to use my body for something you think I wouldn't want?”

“Both?” Castiel met his eyes, silently pleading for an answer.

“Why bother? It's not like I would know. I can feel your emotions sometimes, but beyond that I don't really know what you get up to. I imagine that's for the better,” Jimmy replied. He leaned forward so that their noses were almost touching. “Just do it right. Be patient, and don't forget the lube.”

Castiel stared at him, at a loss for words. Was he really hearing this? He didn't have any reason to be familiar with the logistics of sexual intercourse, especially not between two men, but apparently he didn't know Jimmy as well as he thought he did.

“What? I wasn't always a good little Christian with a wife and kid, who said grace before every meal. Sometimes, I even miss it. It's much more intense with a man. I love Amelia, though. She saved me from myself, and her faith gave me something to believe in.” Jimmy shoved the last of his fries in his mouth and seemed to be deep in thought. “I was a journalist in New York when I was younger. I fell in love with my partner. We were together almost ten years. He was killed one day, when I stuck my nose in something I shouldn't have. It was the report of the century, we both agreed on that. It's not every day you get dirt on one of the world's largest drug cartels moving goods through the New York subway and ferry systems. Not that it mattered, because I watched him get shot while I ran like a coward. They put me in the witness protection program afterward. That's how I wound up in Illinois. My real name is Kelly Griffin.”

“I'm so sorry,” Castiel said quietly.

“Don't be. I was happy with Amelia. Claire, too, even though she wasn't mine. It was one of the best moments of my life when Claire took my last name when I married Amelia,” Jimmy told him. “Even now, I know I made the right choice – with you, I mean. I hate you sometimes, but your heart is in the right place and I like this world so you had better save it.”

“I will,” Castiel promised.

“Hey? Can you let me out sometimes? It gets lonely in here.”

“As long as it's safe, I don't think that should be a problem,” Castiel agreed.

“If you need any, uh, advice about the gay thing – ask me. I'm not useful for much, but I know the answers there and I really doubt Dean does,” Jimmy said as Castiel headed for the door.

“I don't plan on letting it get that far,” Castiel said with a grimace.

“Well, whatever. Offer still stands. Go save the world, or something.”


	5. Chapter 5

Luckily, Dean made it back to the motel before Sam. If he played his cards right, and Gabriel kept his trap shut, Sam would never guess he had gone on a hunt. Gabe had since left, and Dean found himself watching a Doctor Sexy rerun with a beer in hand. It would have been perfect, if only he had some quarters for the magic fingers. Except, that he couldn't even watch the show without thinking of Sam's comment about how he knew Dean had a thing for the doctor. He changed the channel to the local news, and groaned aloud at the live report playing on the screen. There was another death on that cursed road in Lafayette, in the neighboring house – the old lady that Cas had spoken to. Grudgingly, he picked up his phone and dialed Sam.

He and Cas were both back at the motel within a few minutes. Sam had been down the road making a beer run, and it wasn't like distance mattered to the angel. If something had seemed off about Cas before, though, it was worse then. He put as much distance as possible between himself and Dean, and barely spoke as Sam discussed the news report.

“I mean, this is important and all, but we don't even know what this case is yet,” Sam was saying as he popped the cap off a beer bottle. “There's a girl missing, who might still be alive in connection to that damned hotel.”

“Wait, someone's missing?” Dean asked. “No one told me that when I was there.”

“It must have happened either just before we burned the bodies today, or there's still another spook. Some old guy who used to be an army medic asked me to find her. Her name is Liz,” Sam explained. “Apparently she went upstairs looking for someone and never came back.”

“Damn it, not Liz.” Dean punched the wall in frustration. “She's a little rough on the edges, but she's a good kid. We gotta find her, Sam.”

“Fine, but what about this cursed ground mess? It doesn't seem like we can go alone on either of these jobs, and whichever one we pick -”

“Someone dies,” Dean finished Sam's sentence for him. “Wait, what about Gabriel?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Gabriel is dead.”

“Damn it Sam, I know what you did and I know he's not dead. We, uh, ganked a witch together earlier,” Dean said sheepishly.

“Sam?” Cas finally spoke, “Why didn't you tell us?”

“We'll talk about it later,” Sam said hesitantly. “Do you really think he'll help, though?”

“Dunno,” Dean said and shrugged. “It's worth a shot. You can pray to him, though. Your angel, your problem.”

“He's not...” Sam frowned and stared at the ceiling. “This feels weird. I guess I know how you felt all those times I made you call Cas. Well, um... What do I say? I pray to Gabriel to, uh... This is awkward. Fuck my life sideways. Can you help with something? Please?”

“Hey Sammich, and lover boys.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “He's been behind me the whole time, hasn't he?”

“As soon as you said 'I pray to Gabriel', yeah,” Dean answered with a smirk.

* * *

 Dean was going to kill them both, Sam and Gabe. When he'd suggested calling Gabe, he'd meant for him and Cas to deal with the cursed street bullshit, while he and Sam took on the hotel. Instead, Cas was riding shotgun in the Impala – staring pointedly out the side window. He hadn't said a word since they left the motel. He knew then, what Gabe meant when he said Cas would run. He may not have actually gone anywhere, but he was running in his own way and Dean had no idea how to catch up with him.

“Listen, Cas, we have to stay sharp. This place almost killed me once, we need to be on the top of our game,” Dean said, patting him on the shoulder.

“I know,” Cas mumbled, recoiling from Dean's touch.

Dean slammed on the breaks and parked the car in a gravel pull-off on the side of the road – probably a place the cops used as a speed trap. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, reminding himself that he needed to be patient with Cas. Hell, he was scared, too. Terrified, really. He was grateful for the amount work they had on their plate, because it kept him too busy to sit and think of how much Cas meant to him, and how afraid he was of putting it out there. Even worse, how much he dreaded the very real possibility that Cas would leave.

“Cas, we need to talk.”

“Not right now.”

“Yes, now.”

Cas sighed and tilted his head back to rest against headrest. “Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

“When you called to me in that nightmare, you said that you loved me. ...And that you need me,” Castiel finally said. He had his eyes shut tight, as if he couldn't even bear to look at Dean.

Dean bit his lip and wished he could evaporate on the spot. His fears were confirmed; Cas _had_ heard all of it. Through the panic that welled up inside him, he remembered Sam's words from the previous night when he had asked his brother how to handle his mess: 'you can start by admitting that you have feelings for him'.

“Yeah,” Dean said, barely able to find his voice. “I meant it.”

“Oh,” Castiel whispered.

“Right. Good talk.” Dean put the car back into gear and pulled onto the road.

“Dean, this... It can't happen,” Castiel said, obviously fighting his own internal battle as he tried to find the words.

“Focus on the job, Cas.”

The silence that hung over them made Dean want to literally shoot himself. He hated seeing Cas like this – so vulnerable and afraid. The worst part, was that he wasn't handling it any better. Castiel's words tore through his heart like a dagger. It would work out eventually, right? Gabriel seemed to think so, or he wouldn't have bothered throwing him into that stupid suburban paradise where he was married to the blue eyed angel. He just had to stop Cas from running somehow, without making it worse.

When they made it to the hotel, Dean just parked the Impala in the lot, not bothering to walk down from the nearby church this time. When they got out, Rocky and Ed were hanging out by the bonfire again, and waved to Dean. They eyed Cas suspiciously, but relaxed when Dean said that he was with him, and a friend of Sam's. Sam, it seemed, had also made a good impression on the squatters.

“Sam told me that Liz is missing,” Dean said to Rocky and offered him and Ed both a beer from the trunk of the Impala.

“She went looking for you, I think.” Ed popped the cap off of his beer with the edge of one of the rocks surrounding the makeshift fire pit. “Stupid girl.”

“I tried gettin' some guys together to go look for her, but no one will go up there. So, I texted your brother, figured he could help – he seems like the type,” Rocky explained.

“Sam is dealing with another ghost situation right now, but Cas and I are here to help,” Dean assured him, clapping Cas lightly on the shoulder. He immediately regretted touching Cas, who flinched slightly.

“Right, I'm comin' with you.” Rocky dug through his duffel and stuffed a pistol into his waistband.

“Listen, I don't doubt that you're one tough customer, but what we're hunting doesn't exactly bleed like us,” Dean explained.

“Solid iron,” Rocky said, pulling an obviously custom made switchblade out of his coat pocket. “Can't get possessed,” He added rolling up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a pentagram tattooed on his wrist, with a crescent moon and stars wrapped around it. It was barely noticeable, as it blended into a full sleeve that included a wolf howling at the pentagram moon, and a winter forest at sunset.

“Huh, we're a matching set,” Dean said and showed him his tattoo. “So you know a thing or two about hunting,” He added as the three of them headed for the entrance.

“I'm not a hunter myself, but a good friend of mine is. Taught me a few tricks to keep my ass safe. I run into a lot of stuff like this with my hobby. I've even got a few spooks on film from some of the abandoned places I've photographed,” Rocky explained. “So you're all hunters, doesn't that coat of yours get in the way?” he added, giving Castiel a sideways glance.

Castiel didn't answer him as he kicked open the door to the second floor that the squatters had chained and boarded shut like it was a piece of cardboard. Rocky stared at him in amazement as he wiped dust off his trench coat. He and Dean followed with their guns drawn.

“Alright, getting Liz out is the priority. We can deal with the ghosts later,” Dean ordered.

“Agreed,” Rocky chimed in.

“Of course,” Castiel said with a small nod.

They made a quick sweep of the first floor, with Dean and Rocky checking the rooms on their sides while Cas kept an eye on the hallway. They came up with nothing, and the EMF detector in Dean's pocket stayed silent. The third floor was flooded, and the water was slowly trickling down the stairwell. The closer they got, the louder the EMF detector beeped. Dean switched it off and nodded to Cas and Rocky.

“I'm guessing torching the little girl's bones wasn't enough. She must be attached to something else,” Dean said as he threw open the door to the third floor.

The moldy carpet was soaked through, and the air stank of decay. Rocky took out his camera and snapped a few shots of the flooded hallway when they saw that the way was clear. Dean imagined it must have been a pretty cool photo, with the way the moonlight streaked in through a gap from the ceiling and reflected from the water. It reminded him of an aquarium he had taken Sammy to one time their father was on a hunt. The ghostly light seemed to dance along the walls as it bounced off the slowly moving surface of the water.

“Guys, we have company.” Rocky showed Dean and Cas the photo he had just taken of the hall. Standing in the middle of it was a little girl in a pink dress, that was positively drenched.

“Molly,” Castiel said to the empty hall. “We're here to help you. It's okay. Did you see a girl with blonde hair and a blue jacket? Someone is going to hurt her like they did you. Can you help us save her?”

As he spoke, she materialized and moved towards them. Dean raised his sawed off and nearly pulled the trigger, but Rocky pushed his arm down.

“Listen, I think she's tryin' to say somethin',” He said.

All that came out of the little girl's mouth was a sickening gurgling sound, and a trail of bubbles that leaked down her chin. She beckoned for them to follow her and hobbled into the unused elevator. The doors were open at an odd angle, and the elevator car itself was resting at the bottom. Dean shined his flashlight down the shaft, and noticed something he hadn't before when he counted one floor too many.

“Does this place have a basement?” He asked Rocky.

“If it does, they must have it blocked off, or maybe only the elevator had access,” He answered.

“How is that not a violation of every building code, ever?” Dean complained, testing the edge of the shaft to see if the rusted metal could hold his weight.

“This place is older'n shit,” Rocky replied with a shrug.

“Hey, Cas. Can you fly down there and see if you can open the emergency hatch on top of the elevator?” Dean asked, nodding to Cas.

Without answering, the angel fluttered down into the abyss. For a few moments there was silence, and then the sound of groaning metal. Cas reappeared and offered his hands to Dean and Rocky. Rocky somewhat hesitantly took his right hand, and Dean his left. A moment later, they were standing in pitch darkness in the old elevator car. Dean shone his flashlight on the doors as Cas braced himself to pull them open. He struggled a bit, but managed to drag them open far enough for them to slip through. Dean had to admit, Rocky was kind of a badass, with the way he took all of Castiel's mojo in stride like it was just another day in the office. On the other side of the doors the little girl, Molly as Cas had called her, was waiting for them. She walked down the hall and pointed to a closed door before disappearing. A corroded brass sign on the door said 'Maintenance Office – authorized personnel only'. Dean kicked it open, and heard a muffled scream as he did.

“Liz!” He and Rocky shouted in unison when they saw her cowering on the floor in the corner of the office that was strewn with rotting papers and all manner of filth. Dean cringed when he stepped on something crunchy, that turned out to be a decayed leg bone. Liz was gagged with what looked like a bit of dirty hotel sheet. Her hands and feet were bound with more of the same. Rocky and Dean got to work immediately, cutting off her binds. She sobbed and clung to Rocky.

“Can you walk?” Dean asked, gently shaking her shoulder. She shook her head.

Cas knelt down in the sludge beside her and pressed his fingers to her forehead. “Your broken leg is fixed,” He announced and pulled her to her feet. “I will take her to safety, and come back for you two in a moment.” With that he gathered Liz up in his arms and vanished.

“Okay, I gotta ask,” Rocky said, leaning against the remains of the old metal desk in the center of the office. “What the hell is your friend?”

“Castiel is an angel,” Dean said simply, deciding on the truth.

“You're shittin' me,” Rocky said shaking his head. “Well, I mean demons are real, so it's not _that_ weird. But damn son, an _angel_? ...Hold on, did you hear that?”

Dean had his sawed off at the ready, the second he saw Rocky tense. He could hear something that sounded like heavy breathing, like a dog panting almost. Actually, it was a dog. A little spectral terrier bounded through the room with his tail wagging. A man followed, carrying a large tool bag. His placid face contorted into rage when he saw Dean and Rocky. Chaos followed. Dean shot the man, and the dog grabbed Rocky by the ankle. Rocky managed to slam his leg into the file cabinet near him that must have had iron fittings or something, because the dog exploded into gray smoke as it collided.

“Come on, Cas!” Dean complained, as he shot the maintenance guy for the fourth time. He kept reappearing. “Do you see anything he might be attached to?” Dean yelled to Rocky, who was being harassed by the dog. It wasn't doing any damage to Rocky's knee-high leather boots, but it was probably annoying.

“Lookin'!” He replied and started going through dresser drawers as Dean kept shooting the man, deciding not to waste ammo on the dog that was apparently harmless. A few moments later, rocky pulled a small wooden box out of the dresser and tossed it to Dean. Inside was a lock of bright red hair – Molly's, probably – and an old photo of Molly curled up on the man's lap with the dog, while he read a book of fairy tales to them. There was also a heavy gold ring with a square onyx stone set in it, and a plastic employee ID badge with the Playboy bunny on it that said 'Molly'.

“You burn that, I'll keep 'em off you!” Rocky shouted, and plunged his switchblade into the maintenance guy.

Dean dropped the box on the desk, and opened it before pouring lighter fluid in it.

“Go back to hell you, ankle bitin' maggot!” Rocky growled and smashed his leg, dog attached, into the file cabinet again.

Dean grabbed his lighter, and lit up the little wooden box. The man went up in flames and the dog ran out of the office whimpering pitifully. If he had to guess, the guy was so distraught by the little girl's death that he became vengeful and started punishing random people as some kind of closure. According to Sam's research, her murder was a closed cold case, and her grandfather (the head of maintenance), committed suicide a week after they found Molly's body.

“Dean, look.” Rocky pointed to the doorway.

Molly was standing there, but her clothes were dry and she was holding the dog in her arms. She smiled and waved to them. “Come on Little Bear. Let's go home and see Pop Pop.” With that, she vanished in a flash of white light, and the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing and the steady dripping of water. Cas reappeared then, and looked at them curiously, tilting his head slightly as he studied them.

“I'm sorry I took so long. Ed insisted upon fretting over me, even though I told him several times that Liz is quite fine, and nothing in this place can cause me any substantial injury,” Castiel explained. His eyes flicked to the scorched items on the desk. “I take it this place is safe now, aside from the obvious lack of structural integrity?”

“Yeah, I think we done good,” Rocky replied.

Cas placed his hands on his and Dean's shoulder's, transporting them back to the bonfire outside. Liz was sitting there on an overturned milk crate while Ed chugged his entire hip flask dry in a single gulp.

“You must be some sort of angel,” Ed said, looking up at Cas. “An angel in a dirty trench coat.”

“I am, indeed, an angel of the Lord,” Castiel confirmed and mojoed the crud off his coat. “We should be going,” He added to Dean who answered with a stiff nod. The look on Ed's face was fucking priceless.

Dean wrote his phone number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Liz. “That's my number, if anything else ghost-related happens here, you give me a call right away. That goes for you too, Rocky. You run across any haunted places while you're exploring, give me a ring. Take care guys.”

Back in the Impala, Dean yawned loudly and texted Sam that the hotel was dealt with, and Liz was safe. They spent the entire ride in silence, but it didn't bother Dean much. It felt good to finally win at something, without any causalities. They even made friends along the way. By the time they got back to the motel, Sam's truck was parked in the lot.

“Dean,” Cas said, as Dean reached for the door handle. “I'm sorry that I can't be with you.”

“Listen buddy, I get it. Come on, Sam said he was picking up a pizza,” He knew Cas left, he could tell from the soft whoosh of his wings when Dean turned his back. Dean tried to quash the hurt that burned in his chest, and willed away the sting of tears that threatened to stream down his cheeks. He wondered if he could just tell Gabe to drop him back into his stupid fantasy, where he wouldn't have to feel like a monster, and see nothing but pain in his best friend's eyes. He leaned against the Impala and looked up at the stars. Would it ever get any easier?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild dubious consent in this chapter!

Sam and Gabe hadn't had much luck with their case. They had come up empty handed, and decided more research into the area's history was needed. In spite of hating the research end of the job, Dean volunteered. He didn't feel like dragging Cas along on another hunt, if the angel would even come when called. He needed space; Dean knew that. So, he spent the better part of the afternoon going through the motions, while Sam and Gabe picked up a new hunt in Sussex. An antique shop owner had been found dead in his shop, apparently the victim of a hanging but there was nothing for him to hang from. Dean hadn't found much about the history of his case, except that more people died on that stretch of road over the years than he ever would have guessed. Every 25 years, something went on a killing spree and took one member of each family – usually the oldest male.

After an insane amount of digging into the town records dating back to the Victorian era, Dean finally found something. The first building on the road, was an ice packing plant that made use of the river that ran through the area. Over the years, houses sprung up along the river's edge. The first death was a little boy whose father worked at the ice plant. He had been playing in the woods, and died the next day of an unexplained fever. Then every day that followed residents of the homes on the riverside started dropping like flies from strange accidents – one every day until each family had lost someone. The same phenomena repeated itself every 25 years like clockwork.

It was linked to the new generations of each family, Dean assumed. Every 25 years, the head of each family got wiped out. It was definitely a curse, a fucking nasty one. The little boy that it started with, must have stumbled upon unholy ground of some kind, or accidentally defiled something – an Indian burial site, maybe? Dean was surprised to find that the area they were in actually had a rich Native American history, as the home of the Leni Lenape tribe that had villages strewn all around the northern part of the state. A few searches later, and he came across a blog belonging to a park ranger that worked at High Point State Park not far from where he was.  He was an expert on the Native history of the area, and had helped curate an extensive collection of artifacts for the local preservation society. Dean figured he was a safe bet for more information, and hopped into Sam's shitty pick-up.

At the ranger's station, Dean found the guy he was looking for sitting at the front desk with a box of donuts. He introduced himself as a local college student going into archaeology, and a follower of his blog.

“Anyway,” Dean said to the ranger; his name was Dan. “I'm working on making a map of all the significant locations of villages, burial grounds, that sort of thing. I was wondering if you might be able to lend a hand, or point me in the right direction?”

“Sure thing! It's good to see people getting interested in this sort of thing again. The towns around here are getting so built up, it won't be long before everything's buried forever and all the tribe's history with it,” Dan explained and motioned for Dean to follow him into his office. “I actually worked on a project like yours years ago – here, have a look.”

A huge, hand drawn map spanned the entire back wall of the office and had every key location that Dan knew of painstakingly drawn and marked. “Wow,” Dean said, genuinely impressed by his work. It was too bad Sam wasn't there to see it; he'd have a full-on geekgasm.

“Take your time, I'll be out front if you need me,” Dan said and left Dean to his work.

The first thing he did was snap a few photos of each section of the map. After that, he easily found Lafayette, and traced his finger along the Paulinskill River until he found what he was looking for – a burial ground in the woods, not far from the space that the old ice plant had occupied. He thanked Dan for his time and headed back toward the motel after texting all the info to Sam.

He stopped at the diner on the way, when he noticed his stomach growling and couldn't actually recall eating anything all day. It was mostly empty, as it was a little too late for lunch and too early for dinner. The waitress, Maria, greeted him with a smile and a wink when he walked in the door. Dean thought to himself that they had probably been in town too long if he and some random waitress were on first name terms. Maria asked Dean if he was going to be meeting with his friend, and he let her lead him to the booth in the corner – the one he always sat at in Gabe's illusion.

“...Cas?” Dean asked as he slid into the booth opposite the angel who was reading a newspaper and munching on a burger.

He lowered the newspaper and looked over at Dean. “Hey there, Dean.”

“Hold on. Are you _eating_? ...And not telling me to go away?” Now what was wrong? Did he lose his grace or something? Shit. Things kept getting better.

“Actually, Castiel isn't home right now,” He answered and offered Dean some of his fries. “But that's fine. You and I need to have a talk anyway.”

“Jimmy,” Dean realized. “Is something wrong with Cas?”

“No, he's fine – just having a crisis, apparently. He'll get over it. As for this, we have an agreement that I get to come out sometimes as long as I won't be in any immediate danger,” Jimmy explained around a mouthful of food. “These burgers are great. It's been years since I've been to Jersey. I forgot how much I missed the food. No offense to Illinois, but if you want good pizza and burgers, you go to Jersey or upstate New York.”

“You've been here before?” Dean asked, curiously.

“Well, not here specifically. I am actually from New York,” Jimmy told him. “That's not important. So, about your angel...”

Dean just shook his head and stared out the window at the farmland across the street. Honestly, he had mostly forgotten about Jimmy. What did that entail, really? If he ever managed to get anywhere with Cas, did that mean Jimmy would get a front row seat to the action? Dean didn't know how he felt about that. Even if he consented to letting Cas use his body for that sort of thing, it was still awkward as fuck. Was that why Cas was pushing him away? It made sense.

“So, I think know what Castiel's problem is, but what's yours?” Jimmy asked, fixing him with an interested stare. It was strange, looking into those familiar blue eyes, but seeing something completely different in them.

“I don't have a problem.”

“Mm hm. Wrong. You're a train wreck. You both are,” Jimmy said as the waitress dropped off Dean's bacon cheeseburger, without even having bothered to take his order. “Stop trying so hard and just let it happen. Maybe that means tomorrow, maybe a year from now. You'll know when it's time.”

Dean picked at the sesame seeds on his burger bun. “You're okay with this?”

Jimmy smiled mischievously. “You don't know me, Dean.”

“No, I guess I don't.”

“I know what you're thinking, though. And the answer is no. I don't have any memory of what Castiel does when he's possessing me, unless he wants me to,” Jimmy told him with a wink.

“I guess I'm just afraid that Cas will leave,” Dean admitted. “Aside from Sam and Bobby, everyone leaves – or dies. Sometimes I feel like I'm poison, like everything I touch is cursed. Bad things like to happen to people that get too close to me.” What was he doing? He wouldn't say these things to his own brother or Bobby, but there he was in a diner booth with Castiel's meatsuit, spilling his guts like a teenage girl.

“Calm down there, Rogue.” Jimmy patted him on the shoulder. “No one _actually_ kills everything they touch, except Death I guess. Castiel might leave, but he will _always_ come back to you eventually. What matters is knowing when to give him some space, or take off running after him. Right now, leave him well alone. He'll come to you when he's ready.”

“I hope you're right, dude.” Dean looked out the window at Sam's shitty pick-up truck. “You wouldn't happen to know how to purify a cursed Indian burial ground, would you?”

“That's kind of offensive, isn't? You should call them Native Americans,” Jimmy replied. “I could teach you how to write a news article worthy of the New York Times, or sell you an advertising slot on daytime radio, but I can't help you with that one.”

“Humor me,” Dean said with a shrug. “Maybe some outside perspective might help.”

“Hmm, well, is there a prayer from their culture that you could say over the graves? Or some kind of offering you could leave? You know, like Catholic last rites, or something that would put their souls to rest?” Jimmy suggested.

“That's not a bad idea!” Dean said, thinking of a few websites he could go to for that sort of thing. “Hey, thanks – for everything. Take care of Cas for me,” He added as he got up, leaving cash on the table for his untouched food.

* * *

 “No sulfur, no EMF.” Sam stowed his EMF detector in the pocket of his flannel. “Witch?” He asked the empty antique shop.

Sam really didn't like the place. It was dusty, and he suspected witchcraft might actually be the only thing keeping all the piles of random old garbage standing. There was barely room to walk through the makeshift aisles of crap. It was more like an overstuffed storage unit than a proper antique shop, but Sam supposed the weekend bargain hunters from the city liked digging through the shit in hopes of finding a score. He found his way back to main counter, where the owner's body had been found on the floor. There really were no rafters or anything for the guy to have hung from. Something caught his eye, though – a security camera pointing at the counter that was buried with as much junk as the rest of the shop. Sam flipped open a laptop that was half buried on the desk and shoved some stuff out of the chair for somewhere to sit. It took him three tries to crack the password, and he easily found the live feed from the camera system.

“Okay, what the actual fuck?” Sam mumbled as he rewound to the approximate time the guy had been killed.

He watched the shop owner leave the desk, with his cellphone pressed to his ear and a black briefcase in the other hand. He was bald, and built like a brick house – taller even than Sam. He chatted animatedly on the phone, and paused as if he was looking at something. He hung up the phone and stepped backwards toward the counter. He reached under the edge of it, obviously feeling around for something, but he never got whatever he was looking for. He was yanked several feet in the air, and grabbed at his throat like he was being strangled. When he finally went limp, he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Sam drummed his fingers on the counter top and considered his options. There was no EMF, so that meant it wasn't a spirit. Sam checked the place he was feeling under the counter, and found the silent alarm button, that hadn't been set off at the time of the death.

“You got anything, Gabe?” Sam yelled up the stairs.

“Other than a really awesome naked sculpture of Marilyn Monroe eating out Dolly Parton, nah.” He appeared beside Sam.

“Gross,” Sam said wrinkling his nose. “Let's go take a look at the body then. I'm thinking it might be another witch, but we'll never find a hex bag in this mess.”

The guy's corpse was unremarkable. His neck was bruised, and broken consistent with a hanging, but nothing else was off about it. Gabe was talking with the coroner in another room while Sam worked, and since he wasn't being watched, he decided to do a little dissection. Again, he found nothing weird and was rewarded by getting blood all over the rolled up cuffs of his white dress shirt. He was picking at them morosely when Gabe walked back in.

“Anything?” The Archangel asked.

“Nothing,” Sam told him as Gabe touched the cadaver and returned it to its original state.

“Well, I got something.” Gabe took Sam's hands in his and vanished the blood from his clothes. “He had this in his pocket.” He held up an evidence bag with a purple velvet hex bag stored in it.

“Great. I hate witches,” Sam complained, unconsciously missing the warmth of Gabriel's touch. “What's in it?”

“The same as the one Dean I had yesterday. I'll bet there's a local coven, and handsome here was a cheater,” Gabriel explained. “His wife's a bartender at the local watering hole.”

To say that the dead man's wife was evasive, was an understatement. They got nothing out of her, but Sam was positive that Gabe's theory was correct. She had several occult tattoos, and wore crystal jewelry. Everything about her screamed 'shitty new age witch', but they hadn't gotten anything conclusive and she had the bouncer throw them out after only a few questions. They agreed that they would have to scope out her home, as soon as they found an address. In the meantime, they headed back to the motel.

“It's kind of hot in here, isn't it?” Sam asked, loosening his shirt collar as he scrolled through the photos Dean had sent him.

“Are you alright?” Gabe asked, frowning.

“Yeah, just... I'm fine,” Sam fidgeted a bit in his seat, and tossed his fed suit coat over the end of the bed near him. For some reason, he couldn't get that moment in the morgue out of his mind – when Gabriel had taken his hands and vanished the blood from his shirt. Had he really needed to touch him? And why were his hands so soft? He couldn't focus on the research; he could only imagine how those hands would feel on his bare skin – how it would feel to have Gabriel beneath him. ...Where had that come from?

“Shit! What the hell?!” Sam exclaimed, hoping Gabriel wouldn't look over and see the considerable bulge in his pants. “No, no, no!'

“What?” Gabe asked, getting up to take a look at Sam.

“No! Stay back!” Sam hissed, but found that he couldn't stop himself from getting up, and grabbing Gabe by the lapels. Gabe's eyes went wide as Sam pressed his lips to his in a fierce kiss. “Not bad,” Gabe said as he tried to pry Sam's hands off of him. “I'm not really a fan of being manhandled, though.”

“This isn't me!” Sam said in horror as his hands tangled themselves in Gabriel's hair. Gabriel managed to extricate himself from Sam and grabbed his discarded coat.

“Ha, got it!” He exclaimed and pulled another hex bag out of the pocket, as Sam placed a hot kiss against the back of his neck. “Take it easy there, tiger.” Gabe snapped his fingers and the hex bag burnt to a crisp.

Sam staggered away from him, wiping his hand at his lips and gasping as he fell backward into Dean's bed. “I. Fucking. Hate. Witches.” Sam groaned, and threw a pillow over his crotch. “Dude, I am _so_ sorry.”

Gabriel rubbed a bit of the ash from the hex bag between his thumb and forefinger. He glanced uncertainly at Sam, with his flushed face and pillow held in a vice grip. “This spell is different from the others. I wonder what she was trying to accomplish.”

“Just find out where she lives! I need a shower!” Sam scrambled into the bathroom and made far too much effort to make sure he locked the door behind him. As if a locked door would keep an angel out.

“I hate New Jersey,” Sam whined as he let the freezing cold water pour over him. Really, though, how could one county have so many cases? That wasn't even covering some definite leads Sam had dug up in the southern half of the state, as well. Was there a connection between them all, or was it just a place that somehow had managed to skate under every hunter's radar for years? And what about the coven they'd stumbled on? Sam shook his head and sighed. Dean would never let him live it down if he found out he'd basically ravished Gabe. Hell, he'd never let _himself_ live it down. Where had that come from? Dean was the one having an angel crisis, and Gabe was fucking obnoxious and a slob on a good day. At least Cas had some redeeming features.

* * *

 Gabriel wiped the ash from the hex bag on his pants and sat in Sam's chair by the table. He should really go, he didn't want to deal with Dean or Castiel – or their unresolved sexual tension. Especially not now that he had enough of his own drama to address. Having spent countless centuries playing the role of a pagan God, Gabriel had interacted with quite a few different types of old magic. Most of it, he could either use or analyze based on pure instinct. Their little witch friend's hex bag was no exception. The problem, was that the one she slipped into Sam's coat wasn't the same hoodoo as the ones used to punish their misbehaving boyfriends, or the cookies that nearly killed Dean.

The spell itself was a simple one that drew out the target's primal lust and forced them to act upon it. The problem with the whole situation: It wouldn't have affected Sam at all if he had no attraction to him. The spell would have remained dormant until he either ran into someone he had feelings for, or found and destroyed the hex bag. Now, Gabriel wasn't going to deny in the slightest that Sam was one hundred percent his type (tall, strong and ruggedly handsome), but that was just not a can of worms he wanted to open. He was Lucifer's vessel for fuck's sake. To be fair, it probably wasn't him the witch wanted Sam to ravish. She wasn't blind; she had eyes and was recently made a widow. It wasn't hard to believe that she took one look at Sam and decided she wanted a piece of him – before he started asking questions about her late husband, anyway.

Gabriel gathered his wits and decided to do a little investigation of his own. He was going to find the rest of these witches, and he was going to strangle them with their own intestines. The time for playing nice was over. He flew back to the bar, made himself invisible, and sneaked past the bouncer. He would just have to tail the antique shop owner's wife until he got somewhere.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, my poor boys. :c
> 
> Warning: A bit of gore in this chapter, but no more so than something you'd find in canon.

Of all the stupid things Dean had done in his life, stumbling through the woods alone at night on his way to (hopefully) purify a cursed Indian burial ground was definitely at least number three on the list. ...Second only to selling his soul to give Sam one year, and falling in love with a fucking angel – not that the latter bore thinking about. He just hoped he could find the damned place. Unlike the large burial mounds that could be seen a good distance way that dotted the plains out west, the Leni Lenape's grave sites were relatively modest. They laid their dead to rest under a nest of neatly piled pieces of slate, usually surrounded with round stones to hold it in place. According to Dan's notes, there were only two known graves in the area. In other words, finding them at night in the heavy undergrowth was probably going to be impossible.

He knew he should have made Sam come along, but something about him was off about him all afternoon, and for once he didn't want to talk about it. Hell, he'd just shrugged and told Dean to handle it, that he was sure everything would be fine. The ritual Sam found was fairly simple, and would only take a few minutes to set up and perform. Supposedly it would put the angry spirits back to rest. It belonged to a different tribe, but their beliefs seemed close to the Lenape, so it was a safe bet. At least he didn't have to dig them up and burn them. That just seemed disrespectful. Either way, he had a machete, Ruby's knife, and a shotgun full of rock salt just in case something went south. He'd seen what this curse could do, the freaky way it took its victims, and he wasn't taking any chances with the bitch. Something felt wrong already; it was way too cold for a summer night, and he'd felt like someone was watching his every step from the second he stepped into the woods.

Dean knelt beside a shallow part of the Paulinskill river, and an image sprang into his mind unbidden – a certain reoccurring nightmare that always wound up with him dead, and waking up screaming in a pool of his own cold sweat. It couldn't be. These weren't those woods. They could be, would he really know? Dean immediately got to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest as he drew Ruby's knife from inside his flannel. Would it work on hellhounds? He fucking hoped so. He didn't think twice as he hauled ass back the way he came from, not slowing down for a second. ...Until his foot snagged in a tree root. He went down hard, and heard his leg snap before he felt it.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean swore and grunted as he tried to shift his weight off the injured leg. He nearly blacked out when he saw how bad it was; a bit of splintered bone was sticking through the skin near his ankle, and blood was already beginning to pool on the ground around him. Struggling to stay conscious, he dug his phone out his back pocket. The screen was completely destroyed and it wouldn't even turn on. He must have landed on it, when his hip crashed into the slab of slate that he was sitting on.

“Fuck. No, no... this isn't. I'm not going to-!” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Castiel, I need you man. I'm in serious trouble. Please.” He groaned in agony as he tried to press the sleeve of his flannel against the wound to slow the bleeding.

There was no answer, no tell-tale whoosh of angel feathers, no 'Hello, Dean'. Dean gritted his teeth and used his machete to cut away the tree root his foot was stuck in to free himself. He took off his flannel and tied it as tightly as he could around the broken part of his leg. He'd have to get himself out, if he had to crawl out. All this because he panicked because of a stupid nightmare. It wasn't like he had any shortage of those, or a reason to have hellhounds on his ass at the moment. Just as he very carefully tried to right himself enough to hobble the rest of the way, he heard it – a dog growling.

“C-cas!” Dean tried again, “I really need... Need you! Don't you _dare_ leave me to... To die out here!”

The growling was closer, and with it the air got colder – too cold. It felt like  the coldest night in the  dead of winter, and Dean watched in horror as the undergrowth around him began shriveling as it was coated in a heavy frost. Dean tried to stumble away, but his leg couldn't take the weight and he had nothing to hold onto. He fell again, and  the frost started  crystallize on his clothes. Dean watched his breath rise in clouds, and nearly screamed like a little girl at what he saw. It wasn't a hellhound, but it definitely was a dog – a monstrous, hairless dog that was sitting nearby, patiently watching him with its head tilted to the side almost like the way Cas looked at him sometimes. It was waiting for him to die, to feed on him or something. Dean struggled to get up, but the blood loss made his head spin and his limbs felt like lead as the cold started seeped through them.

“Cas, I-I don't have much time left...  I just want you to... To know that I... Still love you. ”

He raised his shotgun and aimed for the Dog's face. It vanished for a moment, along with the cold, but appeared again in a few minutes. So, it didn't like rock salt. At least he could keep it busy, or make it work for its dinner.

* * *

 

Castiel had broken into the Vernon Library after hours, to see if he could find some sort of trail the local witch coven had left behind – a book they had all checked out, or something. Gabriel didn't seem to think they were much of a threat, probably just a bunch of housewives with too much time on their hands, that got in over their heads. So, it stood to reason that he might be able to track them through something simple like library borrowing habits. He had to admit that he enjoyed the peace and quiet of the empty library. He might spend more time there, when he needed to think.

It didn't take him long to find the occult reference section. He reached out for a book about the history of black magic, and rested his finger against the spine, just as he heard Dean praying to him. He shook his head and ignored it. If it was an emergency, he would call again. Castiel felt terrible zoning it out, but he needed to be alone. He didn't trust himself near the hunter. He didn't understand the rush of emotions that threatened to drown him lately. It was confusing at best, and terrifying at worst. The longing, and the lust were the worst. Why did he feel that way? And why wouldn't it just _stop_? Dean wouldn't want that. Even if he did, Dean had a very obvious preference for female companions, and Castiel's vessel was very much _not_ female. 

He pulled the book off the shelf and flipped open to the contents. It fell limply from his hands as heard Dean calling out to him again. He didn't hear the words – if Dean had even been able to articulate them, but he could feel the agony he was in. This wasn't another nightmare; his hunter was in very real peril. Without a single second thought, he flew to Dean – or he tried to. He landed back on the library floor with a thud, in an awkward tangle of limbs. Wherever Dean was, a powerful dark force was keeping Castiel out. It didn't feel like warding, but nothing else made sense. He flew to the hotel and mercilessly shook Sam awake.

“Where is Dean?!” He demanded, too scared for his safety to care very much about how badly he had startled Sam, who rolled over and had a gun to Castiel's head before he even had his  e yes open. 

“Cas?” Sam gasped. “What are you doing? What's wrong?”

“Where is Dean?” He repeated, his hands shaking where they still held Sam by the collar of his nightshirt.

“Dealing with that cursed ground thing. Why?” Sam replied, gently prying Castiel's hands off of him. “What's wrong? Cas? Talk to me.”

“You let him go alone?!”

“It's a simple ritual; a five year old could do it.”

“ He's in trouble, Sam! He's dying! I can't get to him! Wherever he is, it's warded against me somehow!” Castiel yelled at him. “Just get me there!  _Now_ !”

“Okay! Okay! Breathe, Cas!” Sam told him as he grabbed every weapon within reach and ran out of the motel without bothering to change out of his pajamas, other than to slip into his pair of worn boots.

The drive was mostly spent in silence. Castiel had tried  using Sam's phone to call Dean several times, but not gotten an answer. Sam had hopefully suggested that maybe he dropped it in the woods somewhere. Castiel was ready to literally rip his hair out by the roots by the time they came upon the Impala.  It was parked at the edge of the woods, near the decaying ruin of the old ice plant at the very end of the road. Castiel threw Sam a flashlight and they hurried after Dean. He didn't wait for Sam, he tore through the woods as fast as his feet could carry him. He didn't notice until it was too late, that with every step he took a bit of his grace faded. He was panting, and freezing cold by the time he realized he was in trouble. He stood still, listening to the night insects as he watched a strange,  obviously unnatural, frost creep along the undergrowth. 

“Dean!” He yelled, pressing on in spite of it.

“Cas!” He heard him answer – he was close. He stopped in his tracks as he heard a gunshot.

“Eat shit you  fugly  bitch!” He heard Dean curse. 

Castiel ran hard in the direction of the shout, and could hardly believe the sight that met his eyes when he found Dean. He was half frozen in a pile of ice and snow, with the most evil thing Castiel had ever seen. It looked like a hellhound, but bigger and hairless. It was growling at Dean as he shot it in the face. It exploded in a haze of frosty vapor, only to appear again a moment later.

“Almost out of ammo, Cas!” Dean aimed again, as Sam came bounding through the woods and ran smack into Castiel.

“What the actual hell is that?” Sam asked as he shot it in the chest with his pistol. It turned on them, with it's ears perked up and icy drool dribbling down its chin.

“I think you made it angry,” Castiel said to Sam.

“You think?”

“Cas, get Dean out of here. I'll keep it busy,” Sam told him, aiming another shot at it's front leg. It whimpered and shook its paw, but didn't seem particularly bothered.

“I can't. That thing must be why I couldn't fly here,” Cas said, shaking his head. “And my grace... It's so weak just from being near it – I can barely feel it. We need to get Dean to a doctor. I won't be able to fly out of here, much less heal him.”

“Damn it!” Sam swore. “Then carry him back to the car and get him to a hospital – I'll catch up later.” He threw his phone to Castiel who caught it and put it in his pocket. “All right, on the count of three. One... Two... Three!”

Sam fired several rounds into the creatures face, as Castiel made a run for Dean. It took a lot more effort than normal to pull him to his feet. Thankfully, Sam had pissed off the monster enough that it bolted off after him as he ran in the opposite direction.

“Cas... I can't... Can't walk.”

“I've got you,” Castiel said. “It's not far.”

By the time they made it to the Impala, Dean was barely conscious and panting for breath. Castiel got him into the back seat and wrapped him up in his coat as he sat beside him and pulled him close to try and warm him up. He decided against driving to the hospital. He didn't know where it was, and he was even less sure that Dean would actually make it much longer. Never mind the obvious blood loss, he was obviously suffering from hypothermia.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, gently shaking the hunter's shoulder. “I need you to stay awake. How do I make a call to emergency services?”

“Dial nine, one, one,” Dean mumbled, letting his head rest on Castiel's shoulder.

Just as the first police car pulled up alongside the Impala, Sam came bursting out of the woods, gasping for breath and half frozen. He looked like he was going to ask Castiel why they were still there, but stopped when he saw an ambulance slow down and park in front of the Impala.

“Huh, good call. It looks like it can't leave the woods, by the way,” He said quietly to Castiel and waved to the police officer approaching them.

“Hey, aren't you that FBI guy that was asking about that house the other day?” The cop asked Castiel, frowning.

“Yes sir, these are my partners in fact,” Castiel said gesturing to Sam and Dean. “He needs immediate medical attention. He appears to be in shock, and is suffering major blood loss and hypothermia,” Castiel added.

“Hypothermia? In July?” The officer asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Officer, with all due respect, is it that strange considering the case we are investigating?” Sam asked, his tone irritable.

“I suppose not,” The cop replied as the paramedics came up to them with a stretcher.

“I won't leave you. Not ever,” Cas whispered to Dean as he very carefully got up, not wanting to let Dean fall over. It took every shred of willpower he had not to dive into the ambulance after the paramedics. Sam squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Hey, Cas, did you at least take his weapons?” Sam asked quietly.

“They're in the trunk,” Castiel replied.

“You're getting good at this,” Sam said shaking his head. “Too good.”

“Is it dead?” Castiel asked, as they warily watched the cop and one of the medics approach.

“Nothing would hurt it. I'm gonna have to figure what it is, then we're going to kill it with _extreme_ prejudice,” Sam replied and nodded to the two men.

“Your friend is stable, miserable for sure, but stable,” The medic said with a nod of his head. “We'll take him to the hospital in Newton. Does he have any medical history or allergies we should know about?”

Sam shook his head and looked at the ground; Castiel just shrugged. Sure, he had put Dean back together enough times to know what trivial medical issues he had, but there was nothing he could imagine these men would need to know. He would heal him anyway, as soon as he had the strength.

“I'm not going to ask too many questions since this is a Federal investigation,” The police officer said to them, “So... You know where the station is if you boys need anything.”

“I think... I need a beer. Or fifty,” Castiel mumbled.

“Fifty,” Sam confirmed, and steered Castiel to the truck. “Come on, follow me back to the motel. Let's get cleaned up, have something to eat, and we'll go over to the hospital.”

“Shouldn't we go there now?” Castiel complained as Sam headed for the driver's seat of the Impala.

“They'll put him in surgery probably, as soon as they get his vitals stable,” Sam explained. “There's no point in being there right now. How are you holding up? How's your grace?”

“Barely a spark,” Cas said sadly. “I think... I think I'm hungry. And sort of... Cold.”

Sam sighed and grabbed his coat out of the back seat and put it over his shoulders. “Come on, let's go then.”

Castiel almost ran Sam's truck off the road a few times as got lost in his thoughts on the way back to the motel. He'd almost lost Dean. _Again_. And even worse, he had _ignored_ him when he asked for help. What if he had been able to get him if had been listening the first time? His heart hurt. It felt like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest. Dean had said it again, half delirious when he prayed, 'I still love you'. Castiel gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles ached. Did he really mean it? And if he did... What would Castiel do? It was wrong, and against every rule of Heaven to have such relations with a human. Did that even matter? He was already much closer than what was supposed to be allowed. He'd chosen free will on top of that, even. 

Castiel sighed and parked the truck beside Sam. He hopped out, and climbed into the passenger side of the Impala without a word as Sam ran in to change his clothes. He let his head fall against the window and let out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He had a lot of decisions to make. Sam hopped back into the car a few minutes later with a can of soda and  a  peanut butter and Jelly sandwich, that he handed to Castiel. 

“Sorry, everywhere's closed this late so that will have to do,” Sam told him sympathetically.

“It smells good,” Castiel said, and ate the sandwich without complaint. “Being human must b e a lot of work,” He added as he opened the soda.

“Being an angel seems like a pain in the ass,” Sam replied. “I'm good. Let's go check on Dean.”


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel did not like hospitals. They were supposed to be places of healing, yet something about them was unsettling. Maybe it was just the far less than pleasant scent of disinfectant that filled the air, no matter what part of the building it was. Regardless, to say that Castiel hated himself for not being able to heal Dean was a gross understatement.  Dean was going to be angry. He wouldn't remember much, and waking up injured in a hospital would mean that his first thought would most likely be that his angel abandoned him. Castiel tried to get comfortable in the scratchy plastic chair in the emergency room waiting area. He was so tired, he could barely hold his head up. He needed to sleep, but honestly wasn't quite sure _how_ to sleep. He perked up a bit as Sam sat in the empty chair next to him.

“How is he?” Castiel asked.

“Still in surgery,” Sam replied and handed him a cup of hot coffee. “He'll be fine, Cas. He's survived a lot worse than this.”

“Yes, but this is my fault.”

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was running out of patience, too. Would the  brothers ask him to leave if he was no longer of use to them? 

“ listen, y ou need to deal with this thing, whatever it is, with you and Dean.” Sam took a drink of his coffee and made a face. “This coffee is almost worse than what they had at the motel.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Cas replied and tried the coffee. “People enjoy this beverage?” He asked, and sat the cup on the table in front of him. 

“I'm not blind. Dean's falling apart, and you're... I dunno, distracted,” Sam told him. “Just get it together, because I can't keep watching Dean  crash and burn .  You have no fucking idea what you're doing to him, Cas. ”

“Is that an ultimatum?” Castiel asked,  Sam's words making something in him squirm unpleasantly.

“If that's what it takes, sure.”

They sat in silence, Castiel watching the seconds tick by on the plastic clock mounted above the reception desk. Sam thumbed through a magazine about Archaeology, stopping to skim over an article about a recent excavation in Egypt. Nearby, a young woman dozed off with her head resting on the arm of her chair. An elderly man sat alone in the corner, staring blankly ahead with his cane clenched in his hands. A  middle-aged man stood near the doors, pacing back and forth every now and then. It really was a miserable place, and once again Castiel hated himself for having to bring Dean there - or that he couldn't help any of the other people there.

“So, are you scared of it, or don't how to let Dean  down  gently so you just keep running?” Sam asked, breaking the silence.

“A bit of both. Though, mostly I keep trying to convince myself that I should not be involved with Dean in that way. There are plenty of good reasons, but they feel more like excuses,” Castiel answered. 

“What do you  _want_ , though?” Sam pressed.

“To talk about something else.”

“Not happening.”

“I don't know, Sam. I don't know  _how_ to be with someone, and Dean... Wouldn't he rather just get what he needs from  the  women he always picks up at bars?” Castiel replied a little more harshly than he meant to.

“ You have to have noticed that he hasn't tried to pick up any girls in ages. I watched him throw out a napkin with the waitress' phone number on it at the diner the other day – the  insanely hot blond one, too. The thing about Dean that you need to know, is that he has this subconscious fear that everyone he loves either leaves him or ends up dead. So, he keeps everyone at arm's reach aside from me and Bobby, mostly.  In his mind, that's the only way he can keep them safe.  The fact that he's trying to let you in is, well... It's a pretty big deal. He'll never admit it, but it's really hard for him.” Sam placed his magazine back on the counter and finished his coffee. 

“It doesn't bother you?” Castiel asked, curiously.

“Well, it's a little weird, but I'd rather accidentally get an eyeful of Dean with you in the back seat of the Impala, than deal with the fallout of him fucking some random chick that turns out to be a monster,” Sam said, with an amused sort of smile.

“Has that actually happened?”

“A few times,” Sam said and laughed quietly. “Anyway... I'm fine with it. Just please sort out your crap and talk about it like adults.”

Castiel didn't reply. He curled up in his chair and let his head rest against the back of it. He felt as pathetic as he must have looked, but he was too tired to care. Sam, and even Jimmy of all people, seemed to think being with Dean was the best thing for him. Even Gabriel appeared to agree, unless his constant comments about them were only sarcasm. Something told him it wasn't, not entirely. All of his reasons for keeping Dean at a distance really were weak excuses at best. What did he care what the other angels thought? He'd given everything to fight for Heaven, for his brothers and sisters, but they only ever looked down on him. He didn't care, he would still fight for them and they would still disapprove of everything he did, because they simply did not have the capacity to understand what he saw in humanity. If that meant falling, truly falling, then so be it. He was done running. All of that aside, he was hurting Dean and would rather die than be responsible for causing him pain.

* * *

 

Dean didn't know where he was. He remembered the woods, and breaking his leg. ...And a monstrous black dog that he was pretty sure was sitting there waiting for him to die. He tried to move, but his body didn't seem to want to cooperate. He didn't seem to be in any pain, at least. That was surprising, considering his leg had been broken so badly that part of the bone was on the _outside_. The first thing he really was aware of was an annoying, constant beeping. A fucking hospital, of course.

“For fuck's sake. He's fine. Go eat something. There's a cafe on the entrance floor.” That was Sam's voice. Who was he talking to? It couldn't be one of the angels. They wouldn't need to eat. 

With a little effort, Dean managed to open his eyes and stared vacantly at the ceiling. They'd sedated him,  obviously . That must have been why he felt like a  limp sack of crap.

“A Keelut? I've never heard of it,” Sam said, followed by the sound of him flipping through a notebook. “But if it's an Inuit thing, what's it doing in our neck of the woods? Whatever. How do you kill it? ...Thanks, Bobby.  Let me know as soon as you have something, the victim list on this one is  pretty long . ” 

Dean sighed and struggled to sit up as he heard Sam drop his phone on  the little hospital tray table that he had his notes strewn across. “Sam,” He said groggily.

“Oh, holy shit. You're awake!” Sam was on his feet and at Dean's side in an instant. “So, you probably know this, but you broke your left leg to hell and nearly died of hypothermia.”

“Where's Cas?” Dean asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“Downstairs.”

“Why did he leave me there, Sam? I prayed to him like five times after I broke my fucking phone and couldn't call you,” Dean asked, starting to remember a few more details of the living nightmare.

“First of all, Dean, He didn't leave you. That thing made it so that he couldn't teleport to you,  or the woods might be warded .  We didn't really get time to figure it out. He came to me at the motel, having a complete meltdown over it,” Sam explained, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed.

“If that's true, why didn't he just heal me?” Dean snapped. 

“He can't.”

“What?”

“Well, the monster  in that place absorbed his grace somehow.  H e couldn't get close by zapping us there; we had to drive. He ran off ahead because he was panicking over you,  completely refused to be reasonable , and he got too close,” Sam told him, obviously trying to break the news gently. “Go easy on him, Dean. He's a wreck.”

“Wait so he's like human or something?”

Sam shook his head. “Nah, more like his batteries are dead. He said it's coming back, but by the time he has enough juice to heal you, it'll sort itself out. In the meantime, he's gotta eat and sleep like us. He's not handling it very well, to put it mildly.” 

“What about Gabriel? Can he help?” Dean asked.

“Dunno. He hasn't answered me when I called him. He's pissed at me and that's fair enough,” Sam replied. “And no, I don't want to talk about it,” He added when Dean opened his mouth to ask.

“So, what're we gonna do?” 

“Bobby's on his way up. He's working on finding a way to kill this thing, he thinks it's a Keelut. They're sort of like hellhounds on steroids. They prey on humans lost in the wilderness, and usually do that by messing with their heads – hallucinations and things. They're native to  the  arctic, so I don't know what it's doing here. But, they don't attack their prey other than mindfucking them. They usually wait for  them to die  of hypothermia , while the y hallucinate their nightmares and wander through the ice fields . Then they feed on the remains. They can turn themselves invisible  and are nearly impossible to track ,” Sam explained. “Anyway, Bobby and I  are  gonna take care of that. You and Cas are gonna stay at a safehouse nearby that belongs to one of Bobby's contacts, until you two are functional.”

Well, that was fucking great. Being locked up alone with Cas might have sounded  awesome a week or so ago, but now... Dean cringed. It was going to be a complicated dance of somehow avoiding each other, while not really being able to. In other words, completely hellish. He found the controls for the hospital bed and moved it so he could sit up properly. 

“ How long?” Dean groaned.

“Six weeks before you can walk on it, but they said you'll need another surgery. Cas  c an probably finish fixing it by then  instead ,” Sam told him, as someone knocked lightly on the door and let themselves in. “Tell me you ate something,” Sam said irritably.

“I don't feel like eating,” Castiel replied, sounding more tired than Dean had ever heard him. He had some kind of pastry in  one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. 

“Does that mean you're getting your mojo back?” Dean asked, curiously. 

Castiel's eyes went wide when he saw that Dean was awake. “No. That will take a few weeks. I just feel like I will vomit if I eat.”

“Stress will do that,” Sam said. “Eat anyway; sleep if you can. I'm gonna head to the library and see if I can find anything else about Keeluts.  I still don't know how to kill it. Call if you guys need anything.” 

Dean watched him go, and he wanted to scream for Sam not to leave him alone with Cas. It wasn't that he didn't want him around, but he was terrified that he would only drive him further away. Cas sat on the edge of the bed that Sam had vacated and sipped his coffee. He looked like  warmed over dog  shit, and that was saying it nicely. His hair stuck up all over the place, there were bags under his eyes and his  poor  posture betrayed the complete misery he was trying to hide.

“Buddy, you need to get some sleep,” Dean told him softly.

Cas shook his head. 

“Okay. Just stay with me,  please ? I'm not much use, obviously, but I'll look out for you,” Dean said, patting him on the shoulder lightly. He didn't flinch, Dean noticed. Either he was too burnt out to care, or something had changed. 

“I am the useless one,” Castiel told him morosely. “I can't even help Sam right now.”

“Cas, that doesn't matter. Even if this was permanent, it wouldn't matter. You're family  as far as I'm concerned ; you're not useless.  You think we only keep you around because you're 'useful ' ? You're a person, not a tool; we care about you, ” Dean told him. “I'm just glad you found me. I don't really remember anything after I fell, except the dog standing there waiting for me to die. I thought... I thought you weren't coming.”

“ I almost didn't,” Castiel admitted. “I was...”

“Afraid,” Dean finished his sentence. “Yeah, I know. I am too. Like I said the other night, I get it. It's okay, Cas. I tried to call Sam first, but I broke my phone when I fell.”

“Is that what it is?” Cas asked, talking to himself mostly.

“Feelings are scary,  especially for you I would imagine, ” Dean said knowingly. 

They sat in a companionable silence for a bit, as Castiel finally took a few bites of his pastry.  Dean closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows. Having Cas nearby was enough. Even without his mojo, he was still Cas and his presence made Dean feel infinitely better.

“I don't want to run anymore,” Castiel said quietly. “But I don't know what I should do  now. ”

“You can start by getting some sleep, before you fall over. It won't do you any good trying to sort your head out when you can barely hold it up,” Dean suggested, and nodded to the unused bed on the other side of the room. “Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere unless I crawl and I still have _some_ dignity,” He added with a wink.

* * *

 

Dean wanted to die when Sam and Bobby dropped him off at the 'safehouse' with Cas a few days later. It was an all too familiar townhouse, in a neighborhood he knew a lot better than he wanted to admit. He didn't say a word as he hobbled through the front door on crutches, and collapsed on the living room couch – that was exactly where it was supposed to be. It took all the self-control he had not to have a meltdown as he watched Sam and Cas put away groceries in the kitchen, a nd Bobby drew a few of the usual wards on the walls with chalk.

“You idjits should be safe here as long you don't go bringin' trouble to you,” Bobby said. “You can use the car in the garage if you need to go somewhere, but leave the huntin' to us.  We'll be by every now and then to check on you.”

Once they left, Dean considered  texting Gabriel and asking if it was real, or if he'd chucked him back into his sick little wet dream. It was real, though. It had to be. The Cas sitting on the couch next him was clad in his usual coat and didn't have a psychology degree as far as Dean knew. He was tired, disoriented, and scared shitless of being trapped there alone with Dean. He was definitely going to lose his  mind when he when realized they'd have to share a bed, unless that detail had changed. Dean doubted it. Everything else was exactly the same, even the damned coffee maker  that he never quite figured out.

“So, I think it's time we had the talk.” Dean looked over to Cas, who grudgingly met his eyes.

“I suppose we could only avoid it for so long,” The angel agreed  and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. “I tried to stay away from you because I was – am – confused by what I feel when I'm near you. At first, I was terrified by it. I don't know what these feelings  _are_ . In a sense, I do, but the gravity of that is, well,  rather intimidating . I am not supposed to feel these things. I am not supposed to... Want to be close to you so badly.”

“ Why don't you give in, and see how you feel then? You wanted to stop running so... Stop. Let it happen.  If it doesn't feel right, we'll cross that bridge when we get there. ” Dean gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand gently. The fact that he didn't pull away was a good sign. 

“And what am I to you, Dean?” Castiel asked shakily. “You like women, and this vessel is male. You also aren't usually committed in your relationships.”

“Technically, you aren't male or female. I don't care about that, Cas. It's you, it's just you. You could be wearing Bobby and I'd still feel the same. It's just a logistics issue, nothing complicated. And this isn't something that happened overnight. Maybe I came to my senses overnight, but this feeling... It's been there for a ges , it just took me far too long to recognize it for what it was,” Dean told him, silently praying for him  not to  avoid him anymore . “Look at us, talking about  _feelings_ like little girls. Sam my would be so proud.”

Cas smiled slightly and leaned a little closer to Dean. “It was when you prayed to me that night in the ruined hotel, when you said that you love me. If it had only been the words, it wouldn't have scared me so much. But, sometimes, I can feel what you do when you pray to me. What you felt then,  the  desperation and longing, it overwhelmed me and I... didn't know what to do.”

“Cas,” Dean said and looked up to meet his eyes. “I  meant it, even if I wasn't awake.  I wish I could make you understand how much, but I'm garbage at talking things out. ”

“ Then... Show me.” 

“ Do you even know what you're asking for?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Do you think sexual intercourse is the only way to accomplish that?” Cas replied with a smirk.

“You little shit,” Dean said, shaking his head, and smiling in spite of himself. “Well... Good. While I know damn well that  there's a few positions that would work , I am  _not_ taking your virginity while I have to wear a fucking cast up to my thigh.”

“It is not very attractive,” Castiel agreed.

“Good thing I am, then.” 

“Good thing.”

They both burst out into laughter, and Dean couldn't help that but think it was the happiest he had been in a long time – even if he would probably have to scoot up the stairs on his ass later to go to bed.  They weren't exactly having a make-out session during a Lord of the Rings marathon, but Cas was there with him and that was all that mattered. One thing at a time, he told himself. Maybe it was just the painkillers, but Dean's heart felt about ten pounds lighter.


	9. Chapter 9

Convincing Cas to get some sleep had been relatively impossible, even in a safe, quiet place. Instead, Dean laid in bed with Sam's laptop while Cas ransacked the bookshelf downstairs. He wasn't sure, but Dean thought he heard the angel pacing restlessly at one point. It was three in the morning, and Dean was about halfway through season two of Game of Thrones before he lost it. He snapped the laptop shut and put it on the night stand.

“Hey Cas? Come up here,” He called down the stairs. “And bring a book with you.”

Cas was there in an instant, probably thinking Dean actually needed something. If Dean thought he looked like crap at the hospital, well, he looked worse. He'd ditched the trench coat, at least. Dean assumed it was too hot to wear indoors while he was actually sensitive to environmental conditions. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands.

“Yes, Dean?” He asked without looking up, and dropped the book he had brought with him on the bed beside Dean.

“You need to sleep,” Dean told him, for what had to be the fifth time that night. Castiel only mutely shook his head.

“There's some of my pajamas in the dresser. Put something else on, and get in bed,” Dean told him. “Sleep deprivation is no joke. And, this is just a guess, but you probably need to rest to get your mojo back.”

“But-”

“Please?”

Castiel complained under his breath, but did as he was told. It was strange, seeing him in something other than the trench coat and suit. He was a lot less scrawny than Dean had imagined, which was obvious once he had on clothes that weren't three sizes too big – a pair of gray sweatpants and a white shirt that flattered his well-toned body just right. Dean didn't say anything as he crawled into bed beside him, as far away as physically possible without being on the floor. Patience, he reminded himself and scooted a little closer to the angel.

“Come here,” Dean said and patted the space beside him. It definitely felt weird, as he recalled the memories of his time in Gabriel's illusion. Cas was the one who was distant and awkward, and Dean wasn't entirely sure how to handle it.

“Why?” Cas looked at him skeptically.

“I'm not going to try anything funny, Cas. Come here,” Dean repeated.

Cas moved closer, so that they were touching and Dean managed to get him to lay down and rest his head on his shoulder, with no small amount of encouragement. Dean gathered Castiel's hand up in his, and threw the fugly blue patchwork quilt over them.

“Close your eyes,” Dean told him softly.

“Dean-!”

“Shh, relax.” Dean picked up the book Castiel had brought him. “When we were kids, and Sam couldn't sleep while our Dad was on a hunt, I used to read to him until he passed out. So, what did you bring me... The Picture of Dorian Gray? Jesus, Cas... Some bedtime story.”

“I don't know, Dean. You said to get a book. I got a book.”

Dean smiled to himself and started reading. “'The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the tress of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn',” Dean tried not to roll his eyes. Couldn't he have picked something less old-timey, and not full of sentences that carried on longer than the time it took Sam to get ready for a date? “From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-colored blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to to convey the sense of swiftness and motion.”

Dean took a breath and considered telling Cas to go get a different book. “How is that all one sentence? What did that even say?” He mumbled. Cas only chuckled softly and nuzzled his face under Dean's chin.

“The sullen murmur of of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or -” Dean stopped reading and noticed that Cas was completely relaxed against him, and snoring quietly. “Thank God,” He whispered and closed his eyes as he listened to the quiet rhythm of Castiel's breathing. This, he could get used to. It was too bad Cas wouldn't need to sleep under normal circumstances; Dean rather liked the solid warmth of his body pressed against his, and the softness of that stupid sex-hair that Dean gently ran his fingers through. It wasn't long before Dean drifted off to sleep himself, feeling more content than he had in years.

* * *

Gabriel was absolutely _not_ going to ask Sam for help. Hanging around playing hunter with their merry little family was a mistake enough as it was. He would find the second-rate witch coven, end them, and be gone like smoke on the wind – until the world was on the brink of destruction again, at least. He didn't _need_ to eradicate the witches, but he felt like a little revenge was in order. He was having a nice time working with the Winchesters – until Sam got that hex bag planted on him. ...He should really check up on Castiel though, just to make sure he didn't self-destruct. 

He didn't have any new leads on the witches. He had used a handful of different illusions to mask his appearance while trying to get the barkeeper to crack. She wouldn't give Gabriel the time of day, until he decided to play dirty. Well, dirtier than usual. He used an old Norse spell to give himself Sam's voice and face for a while. All it proved was that she  _had_ meant for that spell to make him go after her like a horny dog on a dry spell. Gabriel almost pitied her. Regardless, she knew the spell had no effect on Sam, so she knew he he didn't feel anything for her. It had been a good plan, Gabriel thought, but she still didn't spill. He'd tried everything he could think of, short of backing her into a corner and using his grace to look inside her melon. Unfortunately, he couldn't get close enough as she always  had two bouncers the size of The Rock at her sides at all times. Everywhere she went was warded against angels, too. It didn't keep him out, but his grace was useless. Cas, however, probably wouldn't even be able to walk through the door. 

It was with no small amount of self-loathing that Gabriel finally gave up.

“Hey, Sammich.” To Gabriel's satisfaction, Sam fell out of his chair in the motel room and landed on the floor in an awkward tangle of limbs.

“Can you not do that?” He complained, getting up and glaring angrily at Gabriel.

“Which one are you, Princess?” An older man in a flannel and dirty baseball cap on the other side of the table asked without even looking up at him.

“That's Gabriel,” Sam said. “Gabe, this is Bobby. He's basically family to me, so don't be an ass.”

“Where's Clarence and your better half?” Gabriel asked, sitting on the edge of the bed nearest to the table. The fact that they weren't there unsettled him a bit. He supposed they _could_ be having mind-blowing sex somewhere in their own room, but how jumpy Sam was suggested otherwise. 

“They're staying nearby at a safehouse,” Sam replied. “Dean broke his leg, and Cas can't fix him because his  grace is messed up .”

“What?” Gabriel asked, his eyes wide. “What happened to Castiel's grace?”

“Does it matter? Did you kill the witches?” Sam snapped, obviously irritated by his presence.

“No. I can't get close enough. Everywhere she goes is warded against me,” Gabriel growled.

“Jesus, will you boys kiss already?” Bobby said sarcastically;  luckily was too busy staring at his laptop screen to see the way Sam's cheeks turned pink . “Forget book club, this Keelut is a bigger problem. Especially since if we don't put it down tonight, it'll disappear for another 25 years. I'm guessin' it's linked to the curse.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “It's not a Keelut.  The time frame doesn't matter, either. The curse itself isn't actually going anywhere. ”

“What?” Sam and Bobby asked in unison.

“I mean, that's some pretty obscure lore so it's kind of impressive that you came to that conclusion, but it's just  part of the curse,” Gabriel explained. “A real Keelut wouldn't be able to live here. It's not cold enough.  They like ice fields, not forests .  They also wouldn't be able to fuck with Castiel's grace.  Do you want to know what it really is? A manifestation of your worst nightmare – Dean's actually. If you went there without him, it would be whatever is in _your_ heads.”

“ So how do we break the curse,  sweetheart ?” Bobby demanded.

“You don't, You get out of it's way, or give it what it actually wants.  Killing the witch that started it is an option, too. ” Gabriel picked at his nails and looked up at Sam. “But I assume the person it wants has been dead for a hundred years,  and killing the caster of the spell doesn't always guarantee it to end. ”

“Maybe it's not even one person,” Sam said sourly. “For all we know the entire riverside could have been sacred ground that was defiled when people started settling there. It might not be  anyone or anything specific .” 

“Maybe it's the river itself,” Gabriel suggested. “If that's true, you  _can_ purify water. If you bless it at the source, it should do the trick –  depending on the type of magic at work, of course. ”

“How would a river get cursed in the first place?” Bobby asked, frowning.

“Dunno, I'm thinking something happened the re that tainted it, but we'll never know because it's not worth the effort of sending you back in time,” Gabriel replied. “Anyway, have fun. There's something I need to check on.”

He found himself standing in front of a very familiar townhouse. Dean must have lost his shit when Sammy ditched him there. Gabriel smiled in spite of himself. He supposed it wasn't a complete loss if he could still fuck with the older Winchester. His finger hovered above the doorbell. He thought better of it and just walked in, unlocking the front door with a light touch. Inside, he could hear Castiel swearing in the kitchen. Gabriel raised his eyebrows and ventured into the kitchen. He wasn't sure how he managed not to burst into laughter.  Castiel was covered in flour, and his face was the picture of defeat. 

“Need some help there, little bro?”

Castiel looked up from the cookbook he had open on the counter and glared at Gabriel. “I don't know how to cook.”

“Then why are you?” Gabriel asked, looking over his shoulder at a simple recipe for pancakes.

“I wanted to... N ever mind . Maybe we should just go out,” He said miserably. “ I think I know how to drive.”

“Well, I'm no good at cooking. I can fix Dean for you, though. Your grace will come back on its own over time,” Gabriel suggested.

“ Dean i s upstairs.” Castiel put the cookbook away and tried to wipe up the flour all over the place. He only succeeded in making it worse.

“Be right back then,” Gabriel said and snapped his fingers. The mess vanished, even what was all over Castiel's clothes.

He left Castiel alone and headed upstairs. Dean was sitting up in bed, watching a movie on Sam's laptop. He looked up an d shut the laptop when Gabriel knocked lightly on the open door. 

“By all means, don't turn off your porn for me. You know I'm something of a connoisseur myself,” Gabriel told him with a mischievous wink.

“It's game of thrones you ass,” Dead told him, rolling his eyes.

“ T hat's still about seventy percent porn,” Gabriel replied.

“Fair enough,” Dean said with a smirk. “What do you want?”

“Some of those little strawberry  hard  candies with the jelly filling,  getting pegged by Anna Kendrick , and a lifetime pass to Disney World  so I can try to get with all the 'princesses' ,” Gabriel answered. “Really, though. I don't want anything. I'm just here to fix you.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Gabriel just lightly pressed his hand to Dean's forehead. “All  better , I even removed the metal plate and screws that was holding it together.” He tapped his fingers on the cast, and that disappeared as well.

“How do you do that – just make things disappear?  Can Cas do that? ” Dean asked, curiously.

“I'm an archangel,” Gabriel said and shrugged. “I can't make things cease to exist,  but  I can relocate them or break them down into a different state of matter.  Cas can probably do it, but his thing is healing  and time travel . I mean, I can do that too, but he's better  at it  than me. On the same token, he'll never be able to create illusions  or manipulate the fabric of reality as well as I can . We can all do a bunch of really awesome things, but we all have our own... Specialties. ”

“ Hey Gabe? You created that world you dropped me in, right? So how does this house  actually  exist?” Dean asked; the question had most likely been driving him insane since he set foot inside.

“Well, I wanted to create a place that you would fit into easily so I jumped ahead in time, and went through a few alternate futures until I found something good. The part where you were both just normal people was my own work, but I saw you together here and... It's complicated to explain, but because there was a possible future where you wound up here – romantically involved – it had the right sort of ' Feng Shui ' to make it feel more normal to you. Also, illusions  copied from real people, places and whatnot, hold up better and are more corporeal than something completely fabricated because their 'energy' powers them  instead of relying on me to consciously maintain the illusion .  That's what I meant when I said that fake Cas was the same as real Cas, because it was just a clone of him – albeit one copied from the future,  who knew where to put his dick . ”

“So... What happened with you and Sam? He said you were pissed at him?” Dean asked, obviously deciding he wasn't even going to try to wrap his head around Gabriel completely trashing what little he did know about the space time continuum.

“No,” Gabriel said flatly and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Did Sam really think he was angry? He could understand that; he had been avoiding him – for his own good. Still, it was probably safer to keep letting Sam think he was pissed. Dean and Cas, they could have this. Gabriel didn't like being tied down, well that depended on context, and Sam would get attached. He was a big, sentimental sap. It was kind of adorable, and really he wouldn't mind having a good romp with the younger Winchester, but he didn't want to hurt Sam.  Sam was like the Bruce Banner to his Tony Stark, and while the spark was definitely there Gabriel's playboy nature would destroy Sam if he let him get too close. 

Castiel was sitting on the couch reading a newspaper when Gabriel reached the bottom of the stairs. For a moment, he just watched his younger brother. He seemed well-rested, which was a good thing.  He sighed and sat on the couch next to Castiel.

“Just a little advice from experience,” Gabriel told him. “If you want your grace back, have a lot of sex.  As long as it's with someone you have a connection with, it's almost like touching their soul and borrowing a bit of their power, without the shitty side-effects of  _actually_ using their soul to do it.  It'll take like, two days. Otherwise you're looking at a couple months – not weeks.”

Castiel lowered his newspaper and stared at him over the top of it. “What kind of curse can even do this to an angel?”

“A nasty one. That witch coven, they're more than they seem. Sam and Bobby are barking up the wrong tree and ignoring the real problem. They think all these cases are isolated. They're not,” Gabriel told him. “You aren't safe here, either. Not for long. They know we're snooping. So... Get your batteries charged. You're going to need it.”

“ This has something to do with Lucifer, doesn't it?” Castiel asked  irritably .

“Probably. It could explain why their powers are so strong. They're obviously not Grand Coven material, but they're packing some potent stuff,” Gabriel told him.

“And when the time comes, what are you going to do?” Castiel demanded. “Are you going to stand with us, or just watch like you always do?”

“I can't watch them kill each other, Jackass. If I could, I wouldn't have gotten in his way when he went after the Pagans. So, sign me up for Team Free Will, or whatever you idiots are calling yourselves. I don't have enough juice to put Lucy back in time-out myself, but I'm not  _entirely_ useless.” Gabriel got up and went for the door. “Oh, and make sure you have lube. Lube is important.” Gabriel had to admit, the bitchface Castiel gave him was pretty impressive. 

“Whatever you did, go apologize to Sam,” Castiel retorted. “He hasn't been himself. Granted, I am sure some of that is my fault, but I  _know_ the rest is on you.”

“You have no idea what  happened , and  it is going to stay that way, so  please  keep your nose well out of it,” Gabriel snapped harshly and left without another word.


End file.
